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THE IDES OF MARCH 


BY 

G. M. ROBINS 

AUTHOR OF 

KEEP MY SECRET,” “THE TREE OF KNOWLEDGE,” ETC. 



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NEW YORK 

JOHN W. LOVELL COMPANY 

150 worth street 


















































































THE IDES OF MARCH 




BY 

G. M. ROBINS 

' * '* 


AUTHOR OF 

“KEEP MY SECRET,” “THE TREE OF KNOWLEDGE,” ETC. 


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rjfl'i ui 


I 

7*- 


NEW YORK 

JOHN W. LOVELL COMPANY 

150 WORTH STREET 


\ X \ \ 




THE IDES OF MARCH 


CHAPTER I. 

HIS FATHER. 

Absolute. — S ure, sir, this is not very reasonable, to summon 
my affections for a lady I know nothing of! 

Sir Anthony. — I am sure, sir, ’tis more unreasonable in you to 
object to a lady you know nothing of ! 

Feverell Chase, in all the comfort and solidity of its 
compact antiquity, nestled in its obscure position, 
rather too far below the brow of the hill, as modern 
sanitation would opine. At the base of its gardens, 
and clearly discernible from its windows, flowed the 
Bourne, a considerable tributary of the Severn. 

This morning the waters were flashing and dimpling 
in all the radiance of a cloudless day ; and formed a 
lovely prospect for the two people seated at the small, 
sunny breakfast-table in the window of the big hall. 

There were four windows along this warm, south 
side of the hall. Three of them were tall, double lan- 
cet shafts, reaching almost to the vaulted ceiling with 
its fan tracery ; and were blazoned with coloured glass 
coats of arms belonging to all those women who had 
married into the Westmorland family, so that the 
morning sunshine flung crimson, purple, emerald, and 
amber stains upon the black and white paving-stones, 
and the Indian rugs, and on the backs of the sleepy, 
basking dogs who were grouped about the floor in 
various attitudes of bliss. But the fourth window had 


THE IDES OF MARCH. 


6 

been cut down to the ground, so as to open on the 
terrace without ; and the glass was clear, to give a 
full view of the lovely landscape which stretched away 
in the distance; and here it was that the present 
owners of the Chase loved to breakfast, since here 
they could read their papers in the sun, here there was 
plenty of room for unlimited dogS, whips, hats, sticks, 
and other male necessities ; and here the butler did 
not wage war with pipes in the morning, and was 
prone to wink even at the presence of cigar-ash on the 
costly mats. 

Both the persons now enjoying their trout and muf- 
fins, hot coffee, broiled ham and honey, were of the 
male sex. As a consequence, their breakfast-table 
was a silent one. One was deep in a newspaper, the 
other busy with a packet of letters which lay beside 
his plate. The only sound was the ticking of the 
great Dutch clock. 

The two men were so curiously like each other, as to 
leave no doubt of their being father and son. There was 
the same rather peculiar type of feature, the swarthy 
skin and black hair contrasting noticeably with the 
clear eye of Irish grey and the delicate profile ; but 
the points of difference were quite as striking as those 
of likeness ; the pair might have been selected as a 
standing example of the manner in which a man’s 
disposition may work upon and transform his outward 
appearance. 

The face of the younger man was not exactly genial ; 
the mouth was too serious, the lips too closely folded 
for that. The eye too, though candid enough, was 
not sparkling ; there was no impulsiveness, no spon- 
taneity in its expression. Passion was evidently not 
a leading characteristic, indomitable persistency would 
more likely be the ruling quality. 

In a sense, the father was the handsomer • his 
features were better cut, his eyes larger, his lashes 
longer, but he lacked the air of spruce and compact 
manliness which his military training had given to 
Major Westmorland. 


THE IDES OF MARCH. 


7 


There was a certain air of effeminacy about the 
elder man. His hands were soft, he wore a velvet 
coat and a terra-cotta coloured neck-tie with a heavy 
gold ring. Something of the dilettante without doubt 
he affected ; and there were lines about his forehead 
which told of the irritability consequent on ill-health. 

The Major, on the contrary, had a look of perfect 
physical soundness. His bronzed skin was clear, 
his chest broad, his expression tranquil. He was eat- 
ing a good breakfast with evident appetite, while his 
father played with the contents of his plate, and threw 
large morsels to the dogs. 

At last it seemed as though the young man's entire 
absorption in the contents of the post-bag became 
wearying to his companion. Laying aside the Times, 
he glanced across the table, and remarked, 

“ Indian letters, Evelyn, I see.” 

“ Yes,” said the Major, in a preoccupied voice. 

“News evidently not satisfactory,” said his father, 
in his incisive, slightly affected tones. “The fair 
Lily not coming to England ? ” 

Evelyn Westmorland barely looked up, and replied 
indifferently. 

“No, there’s nothing about the Humes. This is 
from Disney.” 

“ Disney? — Disney ? Now what was it you were 
telling me about that young man the other day ? Son 
of the Scotsdale Disneys, isn’t he ? I seem to con- 
nect his name with something in the nature of a ro- 
mance. ” 

“ I told you, probably, that he had had the folly to 
get engaged to the reigning belle in Colombo, and 
likewise the honour of being jilted by her six weeks 
afterwards, eh ? ” 

“I believe I recall the facts, and doubtless I ex- 
pressed my utter contempt, — the contempt I invari- 
ably feel — for any man who has not the ability to 
gain and to keep the affection of any woman he sets 
his mind upon.” 

“ Ah ! That’s one of your theories, I know,” 


8 


THE IDES OF MARCH. 


returned his son, a little impatiently. “ But it's non- 
sense, you see, pure nonsense. Very often the mere 
fact of knowing that a man cares for her is enough to 
prevent a woman from returning the compliment.” 

“Just so, but that does not touch my point. I 
still affirm what I affirmed before. The man, in the 
case you mention, goes to work the wrong way ; he 
should not allow the woman to know he cares for her. 
Women never value what they are sure of. Before 
or after marriage, it is just the same. But I repeat — 
the man who cannot win the affection of any woman, 
or retain the entire devotion of his wife, is a con- 
temptible fool.” 

“You should write an essay on marriage, the 
subject’s fashionable.” 

“ One day, perhaps,” acquiesced Mr. Westmorland, 
leaning back in his chair with a smile. “And who 
was the Colombo belle who broke Disney’s heart ? ” 

“A Miss Merrion — girl of good family, I believe. 
He used to write and rave about her perfect manners, 
her gentleness, and all that stuff, you know. His 
letter — the one in which he announced his engage- 
ment — was a perfect ecstasy. ‘ The birthday of his 
life had come,’ and all the rest of it. What are you 
smiling at.” 

“Your phraseology, my son,” smiled Mr. West- 
morland, sipping his coffee. “'All that stuff, \ you 
know ! All the rest of it l ’ You don’t talk like a man 
in love.” 

“Iam not in love,” said Evelyn, shortly, “as 
everyone knows but yourself.” 

“Oh, don’t mistake me. I know you are not 
really in love. You couldn’t be. You are not 
capable of it. Not one man in a hundred is. But I 
think you are fond of Lily Hume. I hope you will 
marry her ; and you will get on very well together, 
and neither of you discover, to the very end of your 
days, that you have missed the very core and root of 
life, the precious jewel which lies hid somewhere in 
this worlds dirty slough, the treasure which, if found, 


THE IDES OF MARCH. 


9 

illumines, upholds, atones for all failures, all losses, 
— love. But love is so much rarer than people think. 
It can be excellently well counterfeited, but the 
reality is rare. People think that love is a thing of 
which all are capable, like hearing, seeing, etc., 
There are people, as we know, born without sight 
or hearing, but they are not nearly so numerous as 
those born without the capacity for love.” 

“You had certainly better begin that essay I sug- 
gested, without delay/’ observed his son, wiping his 
raven black moustache carefully with his serviette, 
and leaning back in his chair. “I think the subject's 
rather fatiguing for breakfast time, myself. ” 

‘ * I wonder, ” said Mr. Westmorland, studying him 
fixedly — “I wonder how it came about that I should 
have a son who has no imagination. It is a curious 
thing. Fate must have resented the passing of the 
estates to the younger branch of the family, in my 
person, and revenged herself by making my son as 
like my elder brother as possible. Poor Charles had 
no imagination.” 

“Your remarks seem to me be a trifle discon- 
nected,” said the Major, breaking into another egg. 
“ Must one be imaginative in order to love ? Is that 
your theory ? ” 

“ Decidedly.” 

“ I'm inclined to think you are conspicuously 
wrong,” said Evelyn ; “ but there's no need to dis- 
cuss the point now. For my own part, taking a per- 
sonal view of the subject, and apart, of course, from 
your wishes, I can tell you I don't feel like falling in 
love. I have a thorough contempt for women ! Look 
at this case ! Here is poor Disney, as good a fellow as 
ever stepped, completely bowled over by this disgrace- 
ful jilt. He can settle to nothing, cares for nothing, 
finds the world dust and ashes, means to throw up 
his commission and come home to rot, as he elegantly 
expresses it. And all for the sake of this girl. I see 
no reason to consider her an exception to the rule : I 
believe all women are so, more or less — all attractive 


IO 


THE IDES OF MARCH 


women, that is. A woman will break faith just as 
often as she has the chance to, in my opinion. If she 
sticks to one man, it is because she has never been 
tempted to do otherwise, only that. Fancy pinning 
one’s chances of happiness to that ! ” 

His father pushed back his chair, took up a letter 
which lay beside his plate, and inserted a penknife 
into the envelope, carefully cutting the edge. 

“ I tell you, every man can secure his happiness, 
if he only knows how to set about it/’ he said with 
conviction. “ Look at me. I was a younger son. 

I had three hundred a year ; there were two good 
lives between me and the property ; yet I carried off 
an heiress from under an earl’s nose, and for twenty 
years she worshipped me, happy if I smiled, dejected 
when I frowned.” 

“ My mother was a saint,” burst out his son. 

“ Oh no, Evelyn, she wasn’t ; your mother was a 
woman,” gently returned his father, ‘ ‘ and she was 
a very unruly one when I met her first. But you see, 
I understood her : I understand all women ; ” and the 
widower’s countenance broadened into a very satisfied 
smile. “For your own sake, I wish you took after 
me, dear boy, ” he said. 

Evelyn did not reply. He finished his egg, drank 
off his coffee, pushed back his chair, and rose. 

The dogs promptly rose also. 

Major Westmorland went to the open window, and 
stood looking out, his hands in his pockets. 

Seven dogs also went to the window and looked at 
the view, and, had they possessed hands and pockets, 
would doubtless have imitated that manoeuvre like- 
wise ; but in their gentle canine minds they felt that 
human beings soared to heights they could not attain. 

Their master passed out upon the sunny terrace, 
and strolled slowly to the left. The procession 
followed. The leader stopped, gazing into the sky 
for signs of weather. His seven satellites sniffed the 
air. Larrie, the Skye, was old and fat. He took ad- 
vantage of the halt to be seated. The other six 


THE IDES OF MARCH. 


II 


looked calm disapproval, remaining erect, with stiff- 
ened backs, waiting for the next move. 

When Evelyn had decided that the present bright- 
ness would hold, he returned leisurely to the window 
and looked in. 

“ Here's an invitation for us both to Hesselburgh,” 
said his father, glancing at him over his pince-nez. 

‘ ‘ Oh, is there ? I'm not sure I wouldn't like to go, ” 
wq,s the reply, in the truly British negative style of 
expressing a desire. 

‘ ‘ Ah ! yes ! There is a daughter, is there not ? I 
have not seen her since she was a child,” said Mr. 
Westmorland, lifting his cold fine grey eyes to his son. 
“ She would be a good match now.” 

There was a curious intentness in the scrutiny he 
bent upon the young man ; but Evelyn declined to 
see it. 

“ Lily Hume and Muriel Saxon : I could hardly 
marry both,” he said, with an air of wishing to turn 
the subject lightly aside, and an ill-assured smile. 

‘ ‘ I tell you what it is, sir, ” returned his father slowly, 
with a gradual hardening of features and a complete 
change of voice and manner. “It seems to me that 
there has been enough of this fooling. You are run- 
ning it too fine. You have only this autumn in which 
to settle yourself.” 

Major Westmorland stood stock-still, his dark face 
expressing an extreme distaste of the turn the con- 
versation had taken. 

“ Let us talk of something else,” he said. 

A red spot glowed in the elder man’s cheek. 

“Will you never believe that I am in earnest?” he 
said, in a voice shaking with passion. 

The Major's shrug of the shoulders was divided be- 
tween annoyance and contempt. 

“ If I could think you in earnest, I should have to 
lower my idea of your mental powers considerably,” 
he said drily. 

His father's eyes gleamed with a cold, steelly light ; 
his calm w^s more formidable than violence. 


12 


THE IDES OF MARCH. 


“You do me the honour to despise me because I 
am fool enough to accept as valid a testimony whose 
genuineness, I will undertake to say, is more conclu- 
sively proved than anything in the Old and New 
Testament. A fool ! The folly, sir, rests with those 
who, in their insolent presumption, reject the warn- 
ings sent to them. We are so scientific nowadays, 
forsooth. We accept nothing that we cannot prove 
— anything that sounds unlikely is impossible ; yet 
look how Fate has worked to bring about this remark- 
able coincidence — how this old prophecy speaks across 
the centuries, describing you, describing me, describ- 
ing the very movements of the stars ! Evelyn ! ” he 
rose, trembling, and laid an iron grip on his son’s 
muscular arm. “ Evelyn, when you put on that look 
of civil obstinacy, I hate you ! Confound you, sir, 
you are like your mother! But I tamed her,” the 

Major started convulsively, “and by , I’ll tame 

you ! I say I will ! If you refuse to gratify me in 
this, the one only request I have ever made to you, 
I’ll swear I’ll disherit you ! Do you understand ? ” 

“No threats are likely to convince me, father,” said 
his son with dignity. “You ought to know that. Sit 
down now, let us talk this matter quietly over, for the 
hundredth time. It has been so long in abeyance 
now, that I thought — I hoped — the delusion had worn 
itself out. But it seems, ” wistfully, ‘ 4 that it’s as strong 
as ever ? ” 

The elder man took off his pince-nez, and began to 
polish them with a shaking hand, his eyes fixed on 
vacancy. His moment of anger seemed to have tem- 
porarily added ten years to his age, his cheeks looked 
hollow, his jaw dropped. 

“Yes,” he said, nervously, “of course it is as strong 
as ever! The time has come to talk plainly, once 
and for all. What I ask you to do is so simple, that 
you can be actuated by nothing but pure perver- 
sity in refusing me. Marry before the ist of March 
next, and bring home your wife. Why, it seemed such 
an obvious thing. I have never insisted upon it ! I 


THE IDES OF MARCH 


*3 

thought the surest way of securing what I wanted 
was to let you alone. I determined that I would not, 
like so many fools, defeat my own purpose by insist- 
ing too strongly upon it. Every man who can afford 
it marries before he comes to your age. I have al- 
ways let you know I would make you a sufficient 
allowance. It is nothing in the world but sheer per- 
versity that makes you decline. ” 

Evelyns face had a weary, patient look, as of one 
who has been forced many times to go over the same 
distasteful ground. 

The starting veins in his father’s forehead, the 
restless eye, the feverish aspect, suggested vividly 
enough the nature of the Westmorland family 
skeleton. He was a different being, utterly trans- 
formed from the handsome, lazy, elderly cynic, who 
had discussed the marriage question with his son 
over the breakfast-table. 

“Come, stroll in the garden,” said the son, sooth- 
ingly, passing an arm through his. “ Let us have a 
weed on the lawn, and talk this fairly out. There 
must be more in it. This old saw, this relic of 
mediaeval superstition, is not enough to upset a man 
of your talent. A piece of rhyming jingle could 
hardly be of force to impress your mind so pro- 
foundly. Shake it off, sir. It embitters your life.” 

“Embitters my life? You are right there. It 
does — it does,” said Mr. Westmorland, shivering. 
“I will put it only on that ground, if you choose. 
Consider the whole thing a delusion, if you must. 
But grant that my life is really embittered by your 
refusal to do so simple a thing as this I demand. 
Will you really still be obstinate ? ” 

He sighed heavily as he stepped out into the gar- 
den. 

Evelyn walked to one of the untidy tables, and took 
up the cloth cap which lay there among the whips 
and sticks. 

The phalanx of dogs had, during the foregoing 
discussion, hung about in disconsolate uncertainty, 


14 


THE IDES OF MATCH. 


wondering how the situation would develop itself. 
Now they set up a glad howl of delight, and with no 
further ceremony rushed violently out of doors in a 
body, rolling over and over, yapping and playing, 
rioting in the exhilarating fragrance of the morning 
air. In the distance the misty woods which flanked 
the dancing river were in the meridian of their leafy 
splendours. Near by, the dew lay on the berberis 
and on the gorgeous geraniums and roses of the gar- 
den, the sun was drawing up the sweetness from the 
beds of mignonette. The scene was as soul-satis- 
fying as an English summer knows how to be. 

“ So the ist of March next is the fatal date ? ” said 
Evelyn, as he came forth, lighting his cigar. 

“The ist of March,” said his father, mechanically, 
gazing before him with a fixed air. 

“The Ides of March! It should be a fortnight 
later,” laughed the Major, dropping his fusee and ex- 
tinguishing it with his foot as he turned with a look 
of bored politeness to his companion. 


CHAPTER II. 

A GENERAL PRACTITIONER. 

Pelting glee, as frank as rain 
On cherry-blossoms. 

E. B. Browning. 

“ My dear boy ! I was on the point of bringing you 
up your breakfast in bed. Poor thing ! You do look 
sleepy ! You were up all night, were you not?” 

“ Superintending the arrival of Mrs. Jessop’s twins,” 
solemnly replied the doctor, as he sat down to the 
table and lifted the cover of the bacon dish. 

The slim, impetuous girl who leaned against his 
chair gave a sympathetic moan. 


THE IDES OF MARCH. 


*5 

“Oh, poor Dick ! ” she lamented, “poor Mrs. Jes- 
sop ! Poor twins ! I really haven't pity enough to 
go on any further, ’or I would add, poor Mr. Jessop ! ” 

“ I don’t think the twins want pitying,” said Dick, 
applying himself vigorously to the loaf. “They are 
both stout, well-to-do young people, of the male per- 
suasion, and it’s a jolly time of year for them to get 
acclimatised. Pour out my coffee, Leo.” 

The girl turned away to her place at the head of 
the little round table, sank into a chair, and complied 
with her brother’s request. 

“What does Mr. Jessop say?” she asked after a 
pause. 

“Oh, he’s rather pleased than otherwise. You see 
the other four are all girls. Twin boys are a novelty, 
and novelty is dear to the human heart. Throw 
me another lump of sugar, Leo,” 

“My housekeeping will exceed my weekly allow- 
ance, if you consume sugar at this rate, Richard,” 
said Miss Forde, severely. 

‘ ‘ I expect so. Where’s the paper, you young hum- 
bug?” 

“I’m sitting on it,” pleadingly. 

“Then, however unwillingly, I’m afraid I must 
trouble you to rise.” 

“No, Dick, dear ,” persuasively, “don’t read the 
paper yet. There’s a letter for you,” producing one 
mysteriously from under the tea-cosy. ‘ ‘ It is such a 
nice one, and I do so want you to read it.” 

“ How do you know it’s a nice one, you naughty, 
inquisitive little girl ? ” 

“Only by the look ! It is a rough, thick, square 
envelope, bluey-grey. On it is printed ‘ Feverell Chase, 
Barnisham.’ It looks as if it might be an invitation.” 

“Barnisham? It’s from Westmorland! Give it 
up at once.” 

“Barnisham is not in Westmorland, Dick.” 

“Who said it was? It’s the man’s name. Hand 
it over, darling.” 

Leo reluctantly relinquished her “ bluey-grey ” 


i6 


THE IDES OF MARCH. 


treasure, and remained, with elbows on the table, and 
frank chin supported in two pink hands, gazing straight 
at her brother in breathless interest, as he broke the 
seal of his letter and began to read eagerly. 

“ If it is an invitation, I wonder if it will include 
me,” sighed she. “Everybody hereabouts knows 
that the doctor’s sister has come to live with him ; 
but Barnisham is nowhere near here. Feverell Chase ! 
How nice it sounds ! ” 

She gave an eager, impatient twist to the whole of 
her slim, long frame. Leo Forde was nineteen, with 
every one of life’s possibilities before her. It was 
enchanting to find herself mistress of the doctor’s 
unpretentious abode in the Cathedral town of Nor- 
chester. True, the neighbourhood was deadly dull, 
quite conspicuously without any charms of a social 
kind. But the tea-parties and tennis-parties, with 
their undue preponderance of her sex, and the sub- 
duing, chastening influence of the presence of the 
Minster clergy, were so many feasts of the gods, 
absolute saturnalia to Leo, who emerged from a 
nursery full of youthful cousins in a remote vicarage, 
the glad time having arrived when Dick, her darling 
Dick, her idol, the brother more than ten years older 
than herself, should be able to make a home for 
her. 

Richard Forde was a man of more than average 
ability. He had been temporarily employed as doc- 
tor to a regiment whose own doctor was disabled, 
and in that capacity had so pleased the colonel that 
he received from him an introduction to the old doc- 
tor who had physicked most of Norchester for nearly 
fifty years, and was at last convinced that he must 
resign his practice. Richard became nominally his 
partner, virtually his successor, and at once sent for 
his little sister from the rustic seclusion of the vicar- 
age schoolroom, to share his home as long as she cared 
to do so. 

Mrs. Roper, his aunt, prophesied misfortune for 
this arrangement. She did not like to lose Leo, for 


THE IDES OF MARCH. 


17 

two reasons. First, the Ropers were poor, and 
would miss the allowance made them for her main- 
tenance ; secondly, the girl had been unspeakably 
useful, her sweet temper and her quick wits making 
her both an able and a willing aide-de-camp to the 
harassed vicar’s wife, with a large family and a large 
parish on her hands. 

To the girl, the new life was like fairyland. She 
was as happy as the day was long. She went about 
in her plain frocks and linen shirts, from lawn to 
to lawn, tennis racquet in hand, and already the young 
ladies of Norchester were beginning to feel annoyed 
at the admiration she excited in this simple attire. 

“My dear, how nice you look,” many a kind-hearted 
host or hostess would say, as Leo walked fearlessly 
in, her complexion fair as a June rose, her dark dewy 
eyes sparkling with expected pleasure, her brown 
hair all fluffy, under its neat hat with fresh band of 
spotless ribbon. 

It takes but little to adorn youth and happiness. 
Leo’s untrimmed skirts and clean cottons would 
scarcely have harmonized with anything less young 
and blooming. 

Her brother daily marvelled at the untold difference 
which the introduction of this “little chit” made in 
his life. A companion who invariably sees the funny 
side of everything is a boon the greatness of which is 
apt to be undervalued. 

If Dick had been, perforce, absent from one of the 
garden-parties, Leo’s account of it, when she returned, 
was better than to have been there himself. He was 
rather a silent man, but keenly appreciative. Leo 
kept him amused from the time her great eyes un- 
closed themselves in the sunny summer mornings, 
to the time when, like a tall, drooping poppy, she 
yawned herself, heavy-lidded, to bed. 

“I had not been there five minutes,” she would say, 
her recital rendered vivid by the laughing eyes, the 
expressive hand, the evident relish of the trivial in- 
cident “ not five minutes before I saw Mrs. Hancock’s 
2 


THE IDES OF MARCH 


18 

sprigged foulard walking up the path, with Mrs. Han- 
cock panting inside it. ‘ There’s Miss Forde ! ’ she 
gasped, as I knew she would. ‘Come and shake 
hands, my dear. What’s your Christian name?’ 
Now, Dick, you know it is a little fatiguing, dear. 
This was the ninth time she had asked me that. I 
felt so tempted to invent a new one and call myself 
Jemima, just for once , to see what she would say. 
However, I’m so truthful by nature that out it came. 

‘ Leo, ’ I said sweetly. ‘ Leo ! That’s a boy’s name ! ’ 
Stereotyped objection ! ‘ It must be Leonora ! ’ 

1 No, I assure you my full name is Leone ! ’ ‘ Leone ! 

There is no such name. It’s Leonora, you may be 
sure. Your father and mother would never have 
given you such an extraordinary name as Leone ! ’ 
‘ I am sure they would not, had they known how it 
would distress you, Mrs. Hancock.’” 

“Leo, you never said that ! ” 

“But indeed I did ! She goaded me up so ! She 
looked at me so vindictively. There was a fat man 
with a beard behind her, I believe he is her son, and 
that she meant to introduce me, but she refrained, to 
punish me, and swept on, and divided him between 
Etta Nash and the two Miss Petties. Wasn’t it 
tragic ? I was left to mourn in a comer for nearly 
five minutes, when Captain Rider came up and 
asked me to play, and I drowned my disappointment 
in three splendid sets, in two of which we beat the 
Precentor and Georgie Glynn. The fat man cast 
some longing looks in our direction, but he was help- 
less, for he was got up in his Sunday best, and I don’t 
think he knows one end of a racquet from the 
other ! ” 

Recitals, such as this, amused Richard greatly. He 
was intimately acquainted with Mrs. Hancock, and 
the sprigged foulard, and was glad that his Leo did 
not elect to be patronised by her. He did not reflect 
that the girl’s acute sense of humour might be dan- 
gerous in a place where every one took everything 
seriously. 


THE IDES OF MARCH 


*9 

Nobody in Norchester, except Leo herself, found 
Mrs. Hancock at all laughable. 

Richard had perused and re-perused his “bluey- 
grey” letter with knitted brows, that betokened rather 
puzzled thoughtfulness. His sister grew more and 
more impatient. 

“ Oh, Dick,” she burst out at last, in uncontrollable 
eagerness. “Do tell me! You are just keeping 
quiet on purpose to teaze me ! Is it an invitation ? ” 

“ Oh, yes,” said Dick, drily, “ it’s an invitation, cer- 
tainly. ” 

“For what? For whom? For me?” she cried. 

“For himself, to lunch here to-day,” said the doc- 
tor, replacing the letter in its envelope. 

“Is that all ? v 

How inadequate are words to render the absolute 
blankness of Miss Forde's tones ! 

‘ ‘ Who is he ? ” she presently asked, after an in- 
terval, during which she armed herself with forti- 
tude. 

“ He is Major Westmorland. He was in Colonel 
BarfFs regiment ; and hes staying at Hesselburgh. ” 

“ Staying at Hesselburgh ! With the Saxons ? ” 

“So he says. ” 

Here was food for much thought. The Saxons had 
just come down in their might from London, for the 
summer season, at their country house. Mrs. Saxon 
belonged to the great plutocracy of to-day ; she was 
the presiding genius. Sole daughter and heiress of 
Melliship, the well-known provision merchant, she 
had married, nobody quite knew why, Mr. Saxon, 
an amiable and harmless little gentleman of good 
family. It could scarcely have been faute de mieux , 
for Mrs. Saxon, spite of personal disadvantages, had 
a fortune which could have easily secured her a very 
creditable position in the peerage. Perhaps she re- 
cognised, in his peculiarly malleable temperament, the 
one indispensable requisite for her happiness. It was 
always “Mrs. Saxon and her husband were there.” 
She was a large, stout woman, with a heavy jaw, and 


20 


THE IDES OF MATCH. 


red hair, which she wore cropped as short as a boy s. 

It was rumoured that she was to remain all the 
autumn at Hesselburgh this year, as she was burning 
to introduce the sleepy Cathedral town to some of 
the modern applications of hygienic science. In fact, 
the mystic word Demography had been whispered in 
Norchester. Mr. Saxon had to follow his leader 
through many strange paths, for Mrs. Saxon was an 
inveterate hobby-horse rider. Whether it was Hy- 
giene, Female Suffrage, Massage, Home Rule, or the 
Housing of the Poor, whether Mrs. Saxon deemed it 
necessary to lay foundation-stones, go to a gymnasium, 
or support some sister enthusiast on a public platform 
— there likewise was to be found the ever-patient Mr. 
Saxon, with his double eye-glass and his unfailing 
sweet-temper. He was a good-hearted little man, 
and there seemed no cause to believe that . he was 
unhappy, though those of Norchester society, who 
were not invited to Hesselburgh, gave it as their 
opinion that the Saxon idea of matrimony was not 
theirs, thank heaven ! 

On the other hand, those admitted to any sort of 
intimacy at Hesselburgh, while frankly avowing the 
eccentricities of its ruler, still held her to be a woman 
of exceptional ability, who could scarcely be expected 
to move quietly along the beaten track prescribed for 
her by conventionality. Anyway, be her vagaries 
what they might, nobody could deny that she was a 
good wife and mother ; that the poor on her estates 
were excellently cared for, or that she was regular in 
her place in the Minster on Sunday mornings, espe- 
cially when the eloquent, if somewhat unorthodox, 
bishop happened to be preaching. 

Leo Forde had beheld her last Sunday morning 
with much interest, as she marched in, arrayed in a 
billy-cock hat and tailor-made light cloth gown, no 
mantle of any sort shrouding her big, uncompromising 
proportions, and her red hair cut shorter than her 
husbands mouse-coloured locks. 

She was followed by her pretty daughter Muriel, 


THE IDES OF MARCH. 


21 


quite unlike her mother in every detail, by the ever- 
faithful partner of her progresses, and by a tall boy 
of nineteen, her son, whose appearance most favour- 
ably impressed the doctor’s little sister. 

Spite of the oddity of at least one member of the 
family, she thought she would like to know the 
Saxons. They seemed unlike the rest of the Norches- 
ter community — they looked as though they had some 
4 * go ” in them. 

For this reason, the thought of receiving their guest, 
Major Westmorland, to lunch, caused her some trepi- 
dation. She was already mentally selecting her 
menu, when Dick, the letter in his hand, left the room 
in a preoccupied sort of way, and made for his little 
surgery. He had not offered to show his correspon- 
dence to his sister, so she wisely concluded that it 
was ‘ ‘ about business, ” and, ringing the bell, prepared 
to consult her cook as to the resources of the larder. 

In the surgery, Dick Forde sat down by the table, 
took out his letter and read it carefully through again. 

It ran thus : 

“Feverell Chase, 

“ August 2nd. 

“ Dear Forde, 

“I am a good deal disturbed, and in the midst of 
my disquietude I have remembered, with a ray of 
hope, that your new practice is at Norchester, not 
five miles from Hesselburgh, where my father and I 
are just going to stay some weeks with the Saxons. 
I wonder if you remember a great discussion down 
at Woolford, at the officers’ mess, about mania, and 
that I told you that my father was the victim of a 
most curious form of monomania ? 

“ In case you do not remember, as is doubtless 
most probable, I will tell you again what I told you 
then. I am afraid I shall have to bore you with a 
short resume of family history, in order to make my 
meaning clear. With which object, I shall leave my 
father to drive up from the station to Hesselburgh 
alone, and waylay you — it will be about lunch-time 


22 


THE IDES OF MATCH. 


— to pour out my troubles, if you can listen to them, 
then ; if not, to make an appointment for some day 
in the near future. If you are obliged to be out, leave 
a line for me, will you ? And so make me still more 
than at present, 

“ Sincerely yours, 

“ Evelyn C. Westmorland.” 


CHAPTER III. 

HOPE. 

We live by admiration, hope, and love ! 

The Excursion. 

That same morning, while still Dr. Forde was slum- 
bering in his bed, and Leo herself only just thinking 
of turning out ; while the lovely countryside was still 
swathed in a pearly mist, with the sunshine sparkling 
through, and all the pastures were drenched with a 
copious dew, two mysterious forms were to be seen, 
creeping with baskets through the silent park at Hes- 
selburgh, eyes fixed upon the wet grass, as though 
searching for hidden treasure. 

A youth and a maiden. 

The youth was a lanky specimen of his kind — long, 
thin, dark, and humorously plain, though a fund of good 
spirits sparkled in his brown eyes, which atoned for 
many deficiencies. He wore gaiters, to protect his 
feet and ankles from being saturated in the long rank 
grass, and his expression, as he walked at his com- 
panion's side, was that of one thoroughly enjoying 
himself. The maiden wore a stout covert coat over 
her serge gown, and a little straw boating hat set on 
her brown hair. Her skirts were looped up as high as 
decency could possibly permit, and her shapely ankles 
were cased in high, well-laced boots. 


THE IDES OF MARCH. 


23 

Her face can only be described as one which, if 
glanced at for a moment, perforce made you turn 
and look again. 

Warm brown hair with a ripple in it, clear hazel eyes, 
a fair and delicate skin deepening into a soft carnation 
on the smooth cheeks, a nondescript nose, short, even 
teeth, and a figure neither tall nor short, and erring on 
the side of slenderness — these are the property of 
many and many an English girl. 

This particular one possessed something more. A 
certain sedateness of expression, at once sweet and 
baffling, assailed the curious with a vehement desire 
to know what her character was. Instinctively peo- 
ple turned aside to notice her, and talk to her : with 
this astonishing result ; — they discovered by slow 
degrees that the demure girl with the sphinx-like 
expression had found out already a great deal more 
of them than they had of her. 

She was, or seemed to be, inscrutable. 

Just now, however, the natural reserve was as 
much laid aside as possible ; she was yielding her- 
self up to the unconventional delights of the moment, 
to the seductions of wet grass, thick boots, and a sol- 
itary park at half-past six o'clock in the morning. 

“Tom! oh, Tom!” she cried, rapturously, 
“ here they are at last ! A perfect settlement of them, 
such beauties ! Do be quick ! ” 

Tom Saxon, who had turned unwisely aside after 
glimmering white dots, which turned out to be puff- 
balls, now swooped with a shout on the girl’s treasure- 
trove. Unmistakable mushrooms these, freshly 
sprung, firm, fleshy, and embrowned like a lightly- 
baked biscuit at the top, with the dew upon them, 
and the fresh earthy fragrance clinging to them, and 
to their captor’s pink fingers as she laid them deli- 
cately in her basket. 

“Oh, Tom, are they not good ones ? Don’t they 
make you feel quite hungry for breakfast ? ” 

“ Rather ! If we go on at this rate we shall be in 
plenty of time to get them cooked for breakfast. 


24 


THE IDES OF MARCH. 


And we’ll tell cookie to stew them in cream. I say, 
Hope ! let’s have tea in the kitchen again to-night. 
And have another bird cooked in mushrooms ! 
Muriel will, like a shot. She’s game to eat the mush- 
rooms, though she won’t take the trouble to get them 
for herself. ” 

‘ ‘ Trouble ! Fancy calling this trouble ! ” said Hope 
as she rose from her crouching posture, and faced the 
sunrise with a half smile lingering in her dreamy 
eyes. “Tom, I do wish you were poetical.” 

“So do I, my dear, I'm sure, if it would give you 
the smallest pleasure. But you see I’m not.” 

“No, you are not,” she acquiesced, with a reluc- 
tant sigh. “However, you are a very nice boy as 
you are, so I won’t repine.” 

“What’s the good of spouting a lot of rot?” 
blurted Tom, somewhat spasmodically, the upper 
part of his body being stretched over a ditch, and 
his face reddened with his exertions. “ Here’s a rip- 
ping good morning and a first-class sunrise, and 
these mushrooms take the cake, I’m blessed if they 
don’t ! Look at that one. Here am I, out in the 
park, with the jolliest girl in England, and such a 
rousing dew on, that I shall tell them to roll the 
tennis-lawn before breakfast. I don’t want any poet 
to express my feelings, thank you ! Nobody could 
do it neater than I’ve done.” 

“Oh, Tom ! ” cried Hope, sorrowfully shaking her 
head at him. “Oh, Tom, does no upbraiding voice 
within you cry ‘ For shame ! ’ You that learned 
Shakespeare in your cradle. You who have studied 
Paradise Lost as a holiday task ! You whose mother 
reared you in a perfect hot-house of literature ” 

“Just so. That’s precisely why,” said Tom, com- 
posedly, regaining his balance, and straightening him- 
self, basket in hand. “ I might have taken to it later 
if the good old mater hadn’t put it into me with a 
spoon. It’s the same with everything. You take a 
boy twice a day to church regularly, and see if he 
ever wants to go inside a church again when he’s 


THE IDES OF MARCH 


25 


grown up. It's the nature of the animal. When I’m 
talking to the mater I put it better. I say the natural 
reaction of humanity, asserting its power of freewill 
against the animal instinct of imitation. I think,” 
said Tom, with pardonable pride, “ that that sounds 
rather well, don't you, duckie ? ’’ 

“Very,” murmured Hope, reflectively. “Quite like 
Herbert Spencer : or is it unlike him ? I’m not quite 
sure ; but I know he says you ought to let children 
alone, doesn’t he ? ” 

“Never mind him. Let’s have tea in the kitchen,” 
said Tom, persuasively. “ Here’s a jolly, long, lovely 
summer’s day before us. Let’s play tennis after break- 
fast, be lazy after lunch, have tea and mushrooms at 
four, and then go for a good long ride. Eh? Shan’t 
we?” 

“Oh, Tom, you forget ! ” said Hope, with a sudden 
unpleasant recollection. ‘ ‘ Are there not visitors com- 
ing to-day ? ” 

“ By Jove ! So there are ! The Westmorlands, 
pere et fils ! French, do you observe ? Just thrown 
in to show my culture. Oh, blow the Westmorlands ! 
They will cut up the whole day ! They will have to 
be met. Oh, well, pater can do that, — can’t he?” 

“Are they nice — the Westmorlands?” asked Hope, 
a little doubtfully, as she re-arranged her spoils in her 
full basket. 

“Westmorland pere is a great bore, in my humble 
opinion ; but the mater and he are tremendous chums. 
She never buys a picture without consulting him ; and 
he presents her with copies of his poems, bound in 
white vellum and printed for private circulation only. 
The worst of it is, they will stay such a time, as I know 
the mater has invited him specially to help her in her 
plans for this blooming Sanitary League. He’s an 
old humbug, that’s what he is. I don’t think the 
Major has a very good time of it, myself. They had 
me down to Feverell Chase for a week’s shooting last 
year, and I can tell you I wouldn’t be in his shoes. 
The old boy is always snubbing him. And he talks 


26 


THE IDES OF MATCH. 


so queerly too, about will-power and occult forces 
and telegraphy, and psychology. He takes the mater , 
when we are in town, to seances and things. I think 
hes a bit cracked, myself. ” 

“ Is Major Westmorland patient with him ? ” asked 
the girl thoughtfully. 

“Wonderfully, as I think. He’s not a bad sort, 
only a little heavy. Not up to much fun. I wish 
they weren’t coming, for my part. You won’t let the 
old boy monopolize you, will you, dear ? ” 

“ Will he want to ? ” 

“ Oh, yes, won’t he ? I know him. He makes love 
to every girl he meets on the Major’s behalf. It’s such 
fun, because you know the Major doesn’t see it. 
He’s the sort of fellow that won’t marry.” 

“I suppose, as he is the only son, his father is anx- 
ious for him to do so ? ” 

“I suppose so. He’d much better let it alone, or 
else it will be like what we were just now talking of 
— he won’t marry, out of sheer perverseness. ” 

“That would be tragic,” laughed Hope, lightly. 
“Oh, Tom, there’s the stable clock chiming eight, 
and I must change all my things before breakfast ! 
We must run ! ” 

The sleepy chimes of the great clock died away on 
the hazy air, and through the stillness boomed out 
the heavy strokes of the distant Minster bell. 

A nameless, causeless, depression had suddenly 
assailed Hope. The morning was fair as ever, the 
mushrooming expedition had been most successful, 
and a long summer’s day was before her. Why 
should she feel sad ? Why should she find herself 
strenuously wishing that no guests were to arrive at 
Hesselburgh that day ? ” 

If only she and Tom and Muriel could continue the 
placid, childish, unruffled existence of this past week. 
She had been able entirely to forget that she was 
nearing the mature age of three-and-twenty, that she 
had seen much society and been half round the world ; 
that joy and disappointment, pain and pleasure of a 


THE IDES OF MATCH. 


27 

keen sort had been hers. This wholesome English 
country life, this natural unspoilt English boy, with 
his queer, outspoken worship of her and his vivid 
interest in such rustic joys as mushrooming, or tea 
in the kitchen, were making her young and unsophis- 
ticated again, she told herself. 

It was pleasant — refreshing — nice ! How nice ! 
Now something was going to break in upon it un- 
pleasantly, she dimly felt. An alien presence was 
to be introduced. If Major Westmorland were any- 
thing approaching young, Muriel and Tom and she 
could scarcely exclude him from their plans ; but she 
felt that the presence of an outsider — a man — not 
a boy like Tom, but a society man, would chill, 
repress, subdue. It was a saddening thought, and it 
just dashed the exhilaration of that dewy ramble, 
that sumptuous sunrise, these satisfactory spoils. 

Tom was in such jubilant spirits that he forgot to 
notice her sudden silence. The arrival of twenty 
Westmorland families could not depress him. He 
had duly warned Hope against the father, he cer- 
tainly feared no interference from the son. He was 
in tip-top form, as he announced to his mother, 
dancing in to breakfast with a most formidable 
appetite. 

Mrs. Saxon, in a white cotton gown, was seated 
already at the table, with a book at her side, eating 
her breakfast calmly, and reading at the same time. 
Her short red hair was brushed back sprucely from 
her large, bony brow, as high as that of a mediaeval 
Flemish madonna. She looked, as a friend of hers 
once remarked, aggressively clean. She appeared 
to have more than washed — to have scoured herself 
all over. One felt as if she had used the garden rake, 
and the irritation caused by this treatment had not 
yet subsided. She heartily returned Tom’s hearty 
kiss and avowed that she had still a corner left 
for the mushrooms, which presently arrived, hot and 
savoury, from the kitchen. Mr. Saxon, at his end of 
the table, smiled, and greeted his son with the 


28 


THE IDES OF MARCH. 


unfailing amiability with which he greeted every- 
body. 

Hope speedily appeared, metamorphosed com- 
pletely as to costume, and quite restored as to her 
spirits. 

“Muriel last as usual,” said the hostess, good- 
humouredly. 

“ I’ve a great mind to go and cold-pig her, lazy 
little beggar!” cried Tom, indignantly. “Why, 
Hope, and I have been up for hours ! Fancy wasting 
a day like this.” 

“I wonder if you would do something for me to- 
day, Tom,” requested his mother. “I want you to 
take the dog-cart into Norchester for some things 
I must have ; I can’t well send the men, as the broug- 
ham must go to the station to meet the Westmor- 
lands, who will be here to lunch.” 

Tom’s face fell. His planned tennis morning 
vanished into thin air. He was far too sweet-tem- 
pered, however, to demur. 

“ I’ll go,” he announced, heroically, “ if Hope will 
go too.” 

“ Of course I will. I like going in the cart — you 
know I do,” said Hope. 

“ You might meet the 12.53 as y° u come back,” 
suggested Mrs. Saxon. “ I am going down in the 
brougham, and the Major would probably rather drive 
up in the cart than make a third with his father and 
me. We are sure to talk as if we were at a W. S. L. 
committee meeting, for Mr. Westmorland is coming 
especially to help me in the arrangements for the 
Health Fete.” 

“ Blow the Major,” said Tom irreverently. 

“ Don’t be foolish, my dear boy,” returned his 
mother calmly. 

“ Well, he won’t be much in our way, Hope : he can 
sit behind with Muriel, can’t he ? ” 

“ Oh, can he? That depends on who ‘ he’ may 
be,” said the calm voice of Muriel herself, as she 
sauntered in to breakfast. 


THE IDES OF MARCH. 


29 

“ Major Westmorland. He’s coming to-day, worse 
luck to him ! ” grumbled Tom. 

“Why, I always thought you liked him,” said 
Muriel in some surprise, as she seated herself at the 
table. 

She was decidedly pretty, this Muriel, tall and fair, 
and rather languid in her movements, always fault- 
lessly dressed, invariably too late for everything, but 
never ruffled by any amount of banter or remon- 
strance. 

“ I am sure you used to like the Major very much,” 
she said, in a soft, high-pitched, drawling voice, which 
was characteristic of her. 

“ Well, his father’s an old bore anyhow,” said Tom 
crossly. 

“I quite agree with you there, ” said Muriel serenely, 
helping herself to butter, her heavy white lids almost 
eclipsing her soft eyes. “ I think anybody but 
mater would find old Mr. Westmorland a bore. He 
is always talking about German, or classical music, 
or Browning, or Hygiene, or something else equally 
disagreeable. ” 

Poor Mrs. Saxon ! Here was her reward for the 
unheard-of sums lavished on the education of her son 
and daughter. As Tom said, it had been put into 
them with a spoon. There was some truth in his 
theory of reaction. 

The mater took the candid criticisms of her family 
in very good part. Evidently the right of private 
judgment was freely conceded at Hesselburgh. She 
merely observed, as she gathered up her letters and 
rose from the breakfast-table, that they had better 
practise resignation, as the visitors would most cer- 
tainly stay for a month, and that the dog-cart would 
be round by eleven. 


30 


THE IDES OF MARCH. 


CHAPTER IV. 

LEO AS HOSTESS. 

The primrose by the river’s brim, 

A yellow primrose was to him, 

And it was nothing more ! 

Peter Bell. 

Major Westmorland, as he came out of the station, 
a goodly array of his father s impedimenta on his 
arm, was half dazzled by the flood of brilliant sun- 
light which poured over the scene. Looking about, 
he soon perceived the Saxon brougham, with its neat 
liveries and sleek horses ; and proceeded, with the 
aid of the footman to stow his packages within it. 
His father was still on the platform, shaking hands 
with his hostess, an operation never to be got over 
in less than five minutes. 

“ Hi ! ” shouted some one close by. The Major 
looked up involuntarily, with knitted brows and 
dazzled eyes. 

“Hi!” came the cry again, accompanied by a 
lively chirrup. “ Hi, Major ! Look alive ! ” 

“ It’s Mr. Thomas, sir, and the young ladies in the 
cart,” explained the footman ; and Evelyn, shading 
his eyes with his hand, became aware of the close 
proximity of the graceful cart, its varnished wheels 
flashing in the sun ; of a restless mare dancing up 
and down, in her nervous dread of the puffing engine, 
only divided from her by a wooden rail ; and of the 
faces of three young people all turned towards him, 
with expressions of varying interest. 

It struck even the preoccupied, unimpressionable 
Major at first glance, what a brilliant trio they were. 
Tom’s plainness was more than atoned for by his 


THE IDES OF MARCH 


31 

spirit and gracefulness ; and both the girls, young, 
pretty, becomingly dressed, their dainty parasols 
just fluttering in the morning air, were a pleasing 
example of English country life in summer-time, at 
its very best. 

Youth, promise, and enjoyment ! It was a charm- 
ing picture. He made his way up to them, raising 
his hat indefinitely to both girls, being somewhat 
exercised in his mind as to which was Miss Saxon. 
Muriel relieved him of his doubts, by leaning for- 
ward and greeting him in her peaceful treble drawl. 

“How do you do ? Have you had a comfortable 
journey ? Was not it very hot in the train ? I should 
think it must have been.” 

“ Awful ! ” he answered briefly, with a short laugh, 
which Hope thought sounded rather pleasant. 

“We thought you might prefer driving up with us 
to going in the brougham with mater and all the 
parcels,” went on Miss Saxon. 

“ Thanks very much ” 

“And we’ve got no end of sweets, so I advise you 
to come,” cut in Tom, cheerfully. “ Not half a bad 
tuck-shop in the Market Place. I say, Muriel, intro- 
duce Hope, hadn’t you better?” 

“Major Westmorland, may I introduce you to my 
friend Miss ” 

The mare jumped, the wheels grated on the gravel, 
and the name did not reach the gentleman’s ears. 
He bowed in acknowledgment, and for a moment 
met Hope’s unruffled gaze, as she calmly looked 
down from her superior height. She gave him a 
little smile, and said, rather pleadingly : 

“ I will be so grateful if you will straightway jump 
in, Major Westmorland, it makes me so nervous 
when Maidenhair dances about like this.” 

He was obliged to explain, rather lamely, that he 
was not coming straight up to the house, he was due 
to lunch with a friend of his, whom he had to con- 
sult on a matter of business. He almost felt as if he 
did not wish to get up and drive with these three 


32 


THE IDES OF MARCH. 


jovial creatures, who ate sweets and “chaffed” and 
amused themselves so gaily. He was not in a vein 
for mirth of this kind, his mind was full of a settled 
grievance, which he hoped to have the relief of 
pouring into a sympathising ear shortly. But he 
was not so easily to be rid of the dog-cart and its 
mirthful occupants. 

“Who’s your friend, and where does he hang out ? ” 
demanded Tom, with the Saxon ready good-humour. 
“ Hop in and we’ll drive you there ” 

“ It will be so much out of your way, Saxon ” 

“So much the better. Just look at Maidenhair! 
She’s full of corn and wants taking down a peg. 
Where shall I drive ? ” 

The Major resigned himself to the inevitable, with 
a look of evident distaste, which tickled Hope amaz- 
ingly. He took his seat behind, by Muriel’s side, 
and turned to his charioteer. 

“It’s Dr. Forde, in Minster-gate,” he said, mourn- 
fully. 

“Oh, oh! Dr. Forde in Minster-gate !” cried the 
irrepressible Tom, in tones of much — far too much — 
meaning. “ No wonder you are so anxious to call 
there, Major — no wonder ! Well, look here ! I’ll 
make a bargain. If I drive you there to-day will 
you take me to call and introduce me first chance 
you get ? Eh ? Isn’t that fair ? ” 

“Tom, how vulgar you are,” said Muriel, un- 
emotionally. 

“Not a bit of it; you know quite well that, not 
counting Hope, there’s not a girl in Norchester who 
comes anywhere near Miss Forde. I saw her last 
Sunday in the cathedral. Give her my love, Major, 
won’t you ? ” 

No reply was vouchsafed to this broad, schoolboy 
chaff ; evidently Major Westmorland did not by any 
means relish it. They were off now, shooting over 
the long bridge, across the wide, shallow, vociferous 
river, washing against the stone piers. Then on- 
wards, along the irregular main street, the low, gre / 


THE IDES OF MATCH. 


33 

towers of the Minster now visible, now hidden by- 
intervening buildings. 

Through the wide market-place ; empty to-day, 
except of the immemorial market-cross in the centre ; 
past the town-hall, club and reading-room, through 
the windows of which a few idle men watched, with 
languid interest, the second invasion of the Hessel- 
burgh dog-cart that morning ; and so down Minster- 
gate, the narrow, precipitous alley which formed the 
chief approach to the cathedral. 

Here were several good houses of the old-fashioned 
sort, built right upon the street, one solitary step 
leading up to their unpretentious brass-handled doors ; 
and on one of these an immaculate plate, the fresh 
ebony of its lettering testifying to its recent appear- 
ance, bore Richard Fordes name legibly set forth. 

Mrs. Hancock, purple sprigged costume and all, 
was making her way down Minster-gate, to call on 
the wife of the canon in residence. Her ever- watchful 
eye descried, with no common feeling of outrage, the 
Saxons stopping at the young doctor's door. 

“ A whole batch of them,” she subsequently com- 
plained to Mrs. Shorthouse, “ dashing about com- 
pletely unchaperoned, as usual, two girls and two 
young men, up in the air in that dangerous, fast 
turnout of theirs, going to turn the head of that poor 
little Leonora Forde, who has airs enough already, 
poor child, owing to her cruelly unprotected position. 
Well ! I am thankful to say I have never visited at 
Hesselburgh, never allowed myself to be mixed up 
with their promiscubus, half-professional set. I am 
sure they are quite lowering the tone of society in 
Norchester ; and what with the goings on at the 
Palace, the theatricals and dancing, I am sure its 
enough, as I repeatedly say to the Miss Presses, to 
make our own poor late bishop turn in his grave.” 

It would be untrue to assert that the arrival of that 
magical dog-cart did not send a little thrill and flutter 
through Leo's excitable frame, as she saw it from 
her decorously curtained drawing-room windows. 

3 


THE IDES OF MARCH. 


34 

The gay young people inside belonged to a world of 
which the doctor’s young sister had only had very 
occasional glimpses in her life, as yet. In her uncle 
Roper’s parish, the middle-aged, childless squire and 
squiress had kept no company, and cared for no 
society. “We are quite out of the county,” Mrs. 
Roper had been wont to say ; which, seeing that the 
whole of England is popularly supposed to be divided 
into counties, gives rise to some confusion as to the 
exact geographical position of Sandwater vicarage. 

But, as dear Jane Austen says, if a young woman 
is born to be a heroine, the perversity of forty sur- 
rounding families cannot hinder it ; and so with Leo. 
The uncertainly located parish of Sandwater was left 
behind for ever, she was mistress of her brother’s 
house in Norchester, and here was the Hesselburgh 
party stopping at her very door. 

The vision lasted only a minute or two. The tall, 
dark man, sitting behind with Miss Saxon, sprang 
lightly down, rang, and was admitted. His party only 
waited till the door closed upon him, and then with 
nods and smiles dashed off again down to the cathe- 
dral, the streets here being too narrow to turn the 
horse with safety. Leo had just time to notice the 
pretty girl seated beside Tom, to yearn for a coat 
that should fit like hers, and just such gauntlet gloves, 
when Dick pushed open the door of the pretty, little 
room and said : 

“This is my sister, Major Westmorland.” 

The tall Major greeted Leo without a smile. He 
was so very stiff and grave, and bored-looking, that 
the young girl was seized with almost the first fit of 
shyness she had ever experienced. She did just ven- 
ture to ask him to sit down, to which he responded 
“Thanks,” and remained stiffly standing. This 
chilling want of compliance so abashed her, that she 
sank into her low chair and took up her work, feel- 
ing quite at a loss. Dick, saying that he would order 
up lunch immediately, had vanished, leaving them 
to themselves, and surely if the Major had not pos- 


THE IDES OF MATCH. 


35 

sessed a heart as hard as Benedick's, he need have 
found nothing in the arrangement to complain 
of. 

Leo, in her low chair, was a picture worth contem- 
plating. She wore a white dress, simple as could be ; 
her soft, loose, dark hair was cunningly coiled round 
her pretty little head. Her complexion was radiant, 
her colour just a little bit heightened, and the most 
becoming shade of resentment on her coaxing, full 
mouth. Poor Dick could not know that such was 
the irritation of the Major's feelings at this moment, 
that the very fact of finding himself ieie-a-tete with an 
unmarried woman reduced him to the last stage of 
supreme exasperation. 

Leo was furious with herself. She told herself that 
it was her fault. She ought to know what to say to 
people of this description. A “ county" girl would 
entertain him properly and easily. The silence soon 
became quite unendurable to her frank, confiding 
disposition. She must talk. After due deliberation 
she started. 

“ You knew Dick at Woolford didn't you? " 

He looked vaguely at her. 

“Dick? " he said, as if the name conveyed no im- 
pression to his mind. 

“ Richard, my brother," said poor Leo, with a rush 
of warm blood to her cheeks. 

“ Oh — ah ! Pardon, I'm sure. Yes, I knew him at 
Woolford." 

“You were in Colonel Barffs regiment, were you 
not ? " she persisted, bravely. 

“I was." 

“It was through Colonel Barff that Dick got this 
practice. I was very glad, of course." 

“Oh?" 

“ Yes, because he could have me to live with him, 
you see. He could not do that before." 

Utter silence. It was not to be endured. Miss 
Forde arose, trembling with indignation. 

“If you will excuse me a moment, I will go and 


THE IDES OF MARCH 


36 

hurry luncheon ; you must be very hungry,” she 
said, icily. 

The Major went, with a start of alacrity, to open 
the door for her. At that moment the bell rang. 

“Oh ! that is lunch. Please come down,” said 
she, sweeping haughtily out before him, all her small 
dignity on the bristle. 

But the bristle was quite wasted on her guest. He 
went downstairs after her quite mechanically, and 
took his seat at the dainty little luncheon-table with- 
out a thought of Forde’s sister, except relief at being 
no longer obliged to talk to her alone. 

He woke up a little at lunch, chatting to his friend, 
and once directly addressed an observation to Leo, 
who answered him with such alarming frigidity as to 
cause Dick to glance up in astonishment at a tone 
never before adopted by his merry little sister. 

As soon as ever her carefully-concocted repast had 
been discussed, she rose and turned to him. 

“You and Major Westmorland will smoke in the 
surgery, I suppose,” she said. “ I will send coffee 
in half an hour. Meanwhile, I will say good-bye to 
you,” turning to Evelyn. “ I have to go out. Dick, 
if you have time, look in at the Residence about five, 
and fetch me.” 

So saying, she bowed to the visitor and departed. 
Dick looked after her a little bewildered, and with 
an anxious glance at his friend to see if he were 
offended. 

Westmorland was heaving a prodigious sigh of 
relief. 

“Now at last I can talk to you,” he said, putting 
his hand through the doctor’s arm. “ Come, sit down, 
my good fellow, I shall burst in a minute if I don’t 
have it all out.” 

Upstairs, Leo was enduring the keenest mortifica- 
tion which she had ever suffered. She had taken 
such pains ! so carefully prepared her little house, 
and her little self, to receive her brother’s friend 
nicely. She had gathered fresh flowers from the 


THE IDES OF MARCH. 


37 

quaint walled garden at the back of her small domain ; 
she had taken an hour to arrange her small drawing- 
room, another to garnish her luncheon-table. All 
had been in vain. The visitor had noticed neither 
her nor her surroundings. He had eaten mechani- 
cally, he had looked without seeing ; he was an ill- 
bred, hateful, uninteresting man. 

This was a great pity, because he was decidedly 
good-looking. Did he mean to be rude — to ignore 
her ? Did he mean her to see that she was not to 
consider herself on a level with Muriel Saxon and 
her friends. Or did he consider her too absurdly 
young to be worth considering, or treating like a 
grown-up person ? Oh, how she longed to be able 
to crush him — to retaliate, or in some unmistakable 
way to show him that he had snubbed the wrong 
person. 

Let her but have her opportunity, poor Evelyn 
would fare ill at her hands. 


CHAPTER V. 

A SUNDAY MOON. 

Our interest’s on the dangerous edge of things. 

Robert Browning. 

“ Now at last ! You are quite sure you are ready to be 
bothered ? ” said Westmorland, with eagerness, as he 
* sank into a comfortable chair. 

“Quite/' said Dick, calmly, settling himself very 
much at his ease opposite. ‘ ‘ More than ready, anx- 
ious. You do look so uncommonly worried, old 
chap. ” 

“Yes, that’s what I am. It is really telling upon 
me,” returned the Major, disconsolately; “and yet 


THE IDES OF MARCH. 


38 

the whole story is a parcel of such abominable trash 
that I should not be in the least surprised if you were 
to burst out laughing when you hear it first. I know 
I did.” 

“ Well, what is it? ” 

“It’s an old, idiotic, purposeless family tradition, 
and my father has gone clean out of his mind on the 
point,” said Westmorland shortly. “ That’s the long 
and short of it, and a pretty tale it is to have to tell 
of a cultivated man of this nineteenth century ; but I 
believe my father never was quite like other people. 
Now, you are especially interested in various forms 
of insanity, are you not ? ” 

Dick nodded. 

“This is a most pronounced case. He is quite 
sane on every other point, on this one as mad as 
any hatter.” 

“Tell me what is the tradition, to begin with. 
Where did it come from ? Has it any authority ? Is 
it genuine ? How did he come to hear it ? ” 

“ Exactly what I am going to tell you. I believe 
the prophecy to be so far genuine, that it dates back 
at least to the fourteenth century. We Westmorlands 
originally, I believe, came from the Border, and had 
a Scotch strain in us, which seems to have included 
the highly inconvenient gift of second-sight. As our 
ancestors grew more civilised, or more wealthy as 
the case may be, they migrated further south, to 
Feverell, where a Westmorland of Henry VII. ’s time 
built Feverell Chase. Our pedigree has been very 
carefully preserved for several centuries, and it is a 
curious coincidence that the property has never, till 
the last generation, been without an heir in the direct 
line. Either the eldest son or his eldest son has 
always succeeded, until my own father, whose elder 
brother Charles died suddenly, young and unmarried. 
Excuse all this apparent digression — the reason for it 
will soon be obvious.” 

“Take your time. I’m always interested in old 
families,” said Dick, puffing away. 


THE IDES OF MARCH. 


39 

“Well, when my governor came into possession 
of the Chase, he instituted a thorough search among 
the family archives. They had been much neglected 
in the days of my grandfather, who was, from all I 
can hear, an exceedingly commonplace person, like 
myself. His wife, however, Lady Camilla Hawtrey, 
was a most gifted woman, and from her, doubtless, 
my father inherits his talents ; for, you know, he is 
certainly brilliant above the average. He is an arch- 
aeologist, a connoisseur in art, a bit of a poet, a painter, 
and altogether what I should call a dab at things 
literary and artistic. Naturally enough, his family 
history is of paramount interest to him. It is his 
hobby, his weak point. Well, as he was digging out 
old letters and wills and deeds, he came across this 
old rhyming prophecy. It was written by hand, and 
fastened with seals into the fly-leaf of an ancient, il- 
luminated missal. It was dated below by the monk 
who wrote it, with the date of fourteen hundred and 
something or other, but with a note to the effect that, 
though here set down for the first time, it was of far 
greater antiquity, and was prophesied against the 
Westmorland by the lord of the manor of Burchys, 
whoever he may have been. It appears that some 
dispute had arisen between the families, and the West- 
morlands had satisfied their notions of family honour 
by butchering the son and grandson of this lord of the 
manor, so that he was left without heirs. In not un- 
natural annoyance he threw off this little jeu desprit , 
and sent it to his enemies with his kind regards. I 
don’t know whether or no it worried them at the time, 
but certainly that old lord of the manor has got his 
innings now. He must be thoroughly satisfied if he 
knows how his rubbishing doggerel embitters my 
existence. ” 

The tone was so tragic that Dick could not repress 
a smile. 

“ I knew you’d laugh,” said the Major, gloomily, 
“but you would laugh with the other side of your 
mouth if you had to live with my father. Here, read 


40 


THE IDES OF MARCH. 


the insane thing, and you will be still more diverted. 
Tell me if you understand how anybody can attach 
the slightest importance to it. Of course this is only 
a copy ; the original is almost illegible — no breaks 
between the words, and no stops.” 

The young doctor curiously took from his hand the 
paper he held out, and read the following : 

“ Westmorlonde was bolde to stryke 
In that londe was none hym lyke, 

But all to naught hys house shullde pyne, 

Wo them ys that are born thereinne, 

Withouten hope it shullde betyde, 

The last sonne ys an only childe. 

Sonne ys he of a yonger sonne. 

Ner wife ne childer hath he non, 

But yet the folk of the contre, 

Beleve not that hit mygth be, 

Gyf March with Sunday moon come inne, 

Then wolde they beleve fayn.” 

Dick perused this with a puzzled face. 

“Is it quite certain,” at last he said, “that this 
thing dates back as far as the fifteenth century ? ” 

“ Oh, yes, it’s genuine enough as far as age goes,” 
said Westmorland, fretfully. “By the way, it was 
found in the sacristy of the private chapel at Feverell, 
it could scarcely have been forged ; but my father 
submitted it to a large number of experts before he 
would believe that it was the age it claims to be. 
However, they all decided that there was no doubt at 
all on the matter. Even if Father Julius, who pro- 
fessed merely to copy it out, in reality invented the 
horrid thing himself, still it remains a prophecy, 
dating from the fifteenth century, confound it ! ” 

‘ ‘ Its rather odd, isn't it ? ” said Dick, thoughtfully, 
staring at the irregular lines with knitted brow. 
“ You're an only son, are you not ? ” 

“ I am, as you know, worse luck ! ” 

“ And you are the son of a younger son, and you 
have no wife nor child. ” 

“ True — all of it.” 


THE IDES OF MATCH. 


41 


“Well then, we come to this dark saying about the 
Sunday moon. What does that mean exactly ? ” 

“ I should think it means, when the new moon falls 
on Sunday, March ist.” 

“Not a very common coincidence, I should im- 
agine ? ” 

“By no means. It has happened twice in a hun- 
dred and fifty years ; it will happen again next year.” 

Dick whistled. 

“Forde,” burst out the Major, angrily, “I do be- 
lieve you are superstitious.” 

“A little bit, perhaps,” assented Dick, reluctantly, 
after a pause. 

“You don’t mean to say that you would put any 
faith in that astounding piece of nonsense ? ” fiercely 
cried Westmorland. 

“ I almost think I’d take precautions,” laughed the 
doctor. 

* ‘ Precautions ? What precautions, in the name of 
common-sense ? ” 

Dick laughed again. 

“Get married, and the whole thing falls to the 
ground,” he suggested, slyly. 

This was too much ; the Major’s very fury made 
him calm. 

“Forde,” he said, icily, “you are worse than my 
father. Well ! I am sorry to have troubled you.” 

“Westmorland, I’ll fool no more,” pleaded Dick, 
penitently. “ It was a bit funny, you know. I felt 
compelled to suggest it; but seriously now, tell me 
more of this. You say this prophecy took complete 
hold of your father ? ” 

“ Extraordinary. Not when he first discovered it. 
My mother was then alive ; it seemed hardly probable 
that I should be the only child, and most unlikely that 
I should not marry. As time went on, I think he 
forgot it a good deal. After my mother s death he 
travelled about considerably, both in Europe and 
Asia. My regiment was ordered to India, and he 
came out and wintered there, and enjoyed himself 


42 


THE IDES OF MARCH. 


greatly. It was about five years ago that he began 
to be really what I call mad on the subject. There 
was a Miss Hume out there in India, where my regi- 
ment was quartered : he took a fancy to her, and 
wanted me to do the same. I did not see it. Every- 
body called her a nice girl, so I suppose she was, but 
she seemed to me to be ready to flirt with any man 
who happened to come handy. I told my father he 
had better marry her himself if he thought so highly 
of her ; but he is too fond of his liberty for that. 
However, I was rather incautious, I think ; said some- 
thing about having no intention of marrying, or rather 
to that effect ; and so managed to set alight all this 
commotion about the prophecy. 

“He took to reading it, poring over it, searching up 
old authorities, digging into monkish chronicles. In 
some antiquated county history — I forget what they 
call it — he found a mention of the existence of this 
threat, and of course that was the last straw. The 
history said that the chronicles of Barnisham monas- 
tery (destroyed at the Reformation) contained an ac- 
count of an application from Evelyn Westmorland for 
a dispensation from the Pope, to allow him to pyt away 
his wife, mainly on the ground of her childlessness, 
an old prophecy in the family foretelling great evils 
if the succession departed from the direct line. For- 
tunately the poor lady herself settled the question by 
dying ; and her fond husband, as our family tree in- 
forms us, had eight children by his second marriage. 
I think my father’s mind was always highly emotional, 
easily influenced. His researches and their results 
developed mania. He had a calendar forecast — solar 
and lunar, and so discovered that next year the 
prophecy will apply in all its details. Since then I 
have not had a moment’s peace. Morning noon and 
night is he at me when we are together, regularly 
every day does he write to me when we are apart. The 
thing is poisoning my existence, it has transformed 
him from a cultivated gentleman to a monomaniac, 
and really I have completely lost patience.” 


THE IDES OF MARCH. 


43 

“ If you will pardon me,” said Dick, interrogatively, 
‘ ‘ for what purpose is your father at you, as you so 
forcibly express it ? What does he want you to do ? ” 

“To do ? Why, what you just now had the im- 
pertinence to suggest — to marry. ” 

There was a world of derision in the Major’s voice. 
Dick remained for a few moments dreamily puffing 
away at his pipe, his eyes fixed on the tall hollyhocks 
in the garden. At last, 

“ Pardon the unspeakable temerity of the question,” 
he said, removing his gaze to his friend’s thunder- 
cloud brow, “but why don’t you marry, Westmor- 
land ? ” 

The fury of his companion reached a pitch. He 
sprang from ' his chair and walked noisily once or 
twice through the room. 

“I decline to discuss the question,” he said at last, 
in tones of the keenest irritation. “ What has that to 
do with it all ? What does it matter ? It is beside 
the point. ” 

“ You may of course discuss it or not, just as you 
please,” said Dick, very calmly, and without remov- 
ing his pipe from his mouth, “but it seems tome 
that it is very intimately connected with the point.” 

“Hang it, Forde, you would not go and marry on 
such poor grounds ? Sacrifice some unfortunate girl 
to an inane fragment of monkish superstition ! How 
would such a marriage be likely to turn out ? ” 

“But, apart from this question altogether, it seems 
strange you don’t marry — that is my meaning. Most 
men are married before your age. It looks to me 
like a bit of perversity, you know : as though you had 
been so often egged on to do it that you had deter- 
mined to resist merely for resistance’ sake. ” 

“I don’t think it’s that,” said Westmorland, rather 
sadly. “It is that I am not that kind of man. I — I 
am not what you call impressionable. I am not a 
brilliant talker, as you well know ; I don’t care to 
carry cups of tea about a drawing-room, or waltz all 
night round and round till my head splits. And that 


44 


THE IDES OF MARCH. 


is all women care about, unless you get hold of one 
who frightens you to look at, and talks Aristotle to 
you. I never have seen the woman I could possibly 
endure to have always near me, far less the woman 
I could love. I think,” sighed he, sadly, “I must 
be born out of my own century. The women of 
to-day are not my style.” 

“What century should you have chosen, had you 
been given carte blanche ?” casually asked Dick. 

“Oh, I don’t know. I should like an honest girl, 
and one that could keep herself to herself; one that 
would not be everlastingly dressing and going out — 
but a companion. I don’t want a housekeeper. . . . 
But what on earth is the use of talking? I can’t 
tell you what she should be like, only that she should 
be quite unlike every other woman I have ever 
met.” 

“Well,” said Dick, “ I think you are rather a prom- 
ising candidate for matrimony myself. I have de- 
cided hopes of you. A man like you always marries 
something about as unlike what he fancies as can 
possibly be imagined.” 

The Major gave a contemptuous laugh. 

“Of course, any man may make a fool of himself,” 
he observed. “I won’t undertake to say that such a 
thing is impossible as regards me ; but I do emphati- 
cally consider that it is most unlikely. As if to give 
me a still further warning, if warning were needed, 
here is Disney — my best friend Disney — just come a 
most complete cropper as regards his matrimonial 
schemes.” 

“ Disney !” said Forde, with interest. “ Poor Dis- 
ney ! has he indeed ? Nice fellow, I always liked 
him. Exchanged into the— th when it was ordered 
to Ceylon, didn’t he ? ” 

“Yes, and that was the worst day’s work he ever 
did in his life, poor chap ! You knew him, of course ? 
He went to Ceylon ; got engaged to the reigning belle 
there — a Miss Merrion. She jilted him, and it has 
gone fearfully hard with him ; he is coming home— 


THE IDES OF MATCH. 


45 

has thrown up everything. That’s a woman’s 
doing ! ” 

‘ ‘ Did somebody more eligible turn up ? I mean, 
what made her jilt him ? ” asked Dick. 

“Well, I really am not quite clear. If it was as 
you suggest, Disney does not mention it. They had 
a disagreement, I believe, and she dismissed him then 
and there.” 

“ Perhaps it was his fault,” observed Dick. 

“How could that be?” sharply questioned the 
Major. 

‘ ‘ Why, he may have been in the wrong. ” 

* ‘ But he wrote and implored her to re-consider it ; 
went and knelt to her, I believe ; did everything in 
his power ! Don’t tell me, sir. A woman who can 
solemnly plight her faith to a man, and then turn it 
all up in a minute because of some little wretched 
misunderstanding — I tell you they are all the same : 
you never know what it is you have done to offend 
them, till suddenly they turn round upon you. So 
uncertain women are. No matrimony for me, thank 
you. ” 

“Well, in that case, I see no remedy for your 
present distress, I am afraid.” 

“ Forde, are you speaking seriously?” 

“Quite. You must either endure your father's 
entreaties patiently until the fatal date has gone by, 
or you must marry at once and calm his superstitious 
terror Let me see — when may you consider your- 
self safe ? I hardly know. The prophecy is not too 
explicit as to exact date : 

“ ‘ Gyf March with Sunday moon come inne, 

Then wolde they beleve fayn.’ 

You see, you are instructed only to look out for the 
fulfilment on that day : when it will come remains 
unrevealed. ” 

“ But can’t you understand that I want you to help 
me ? To put a stop to such intolerable folly ; to see 


THE IDES OF MARCH. 


46 

my father, to diagnose him, to scatter his delusion 
somehow.” 

The doctor leaned meditatively forward ; his pipe 
between his lips, his two hands spread out and lightly 
joined. 

“I really don’t see what I could do in that way,” 
he said at last. “You don’t want him shut up, I 
suppose ? He is sane enough on other points. He 
does no harm, does he ? Is not dangerous ? ” 

“Not dangerous, isn’t he? Going about on my 
behalf, proposing in my name to every good-looking 
girl he meets ” 

“Does he do that, though?” 

“Well, very nearly.” 

Dick was unable to help laughing. 

‘ ‘ What a gay old boy ! ” he said, with unconceal- 
able appreciation of the humour of the situation. 

The Major looked first annoyed, then resigned. 

“I suppose it is funny,” he said, hopelessly. 
“When first it began I used to look on it in that light. 
Hanged if I can see the ludicrous side of it now.” 

He rose as if he felt it useless to discuss the subject 
further ; but Dick, rising too, laid his hand on his arm. 

‘ ‘ Look here, ” he said, ‘ ‘ I think you are too despond- 
ing if, as you say, you consider the whole of this pro- 
phecy to be nonsense. You have only to submit to 
this sort of annoyance calmly for a few months, and 
leave it to time to prove the reasonableness of your 
conduct. Don’t shake your head ; I know it’s very 
bad to bear, but why don’t you get out of it ? Winter 
abroad. Go to India for some tiger-shooting, and 
don’t come back till the coast is clear. ” 

The Major shook his head. 

“You don’t know my father,” he said ; and in his 
voice was that pitying tenderness with which a 
mother might own that her darling was afraid of the 
dark. “ I could never leave him,” he added, quietly, 
“ he would go raving mad, I am sure of it. You have 
never seen him as I have. Come up to Hesselburgh,” 

The young doctor reddened. 


THE IDES OF MARCH. 


47 


“ I don’t know the Saxons.” 

He did not add how much he wished to know them. 
In his own quiet way, Richard was ambitious. He 
knew he was clever, he wanted to make a career. 
Fresh from the hospital, full of ideas, au courant with 
all the modern improvements, he felt almost inclined 
to despair of Norchester. Mrs. Saxon seemed the only 
person likely to sympathise with him. He had heard 
rumours of the forthcoming monster meeting of the 
Women’s Sanitary League in her grounds. He did ar- 
dently long to have some share in the demonstration, 

“Oh, I’ll introduce you,” said the Major, calmly. 
“Young Saxon told me this morning that he wanted 
to know your sister. ” 

“ Did he indeed?” 

“Yes; they are sociable people, very kind. I’ll 
introduce you, and get you to watch my father. I 
want to know if something can’t be done. In short,” 
concluded the Major, taking up his hat, “ something 
must be done. You will see that I cannot marry, ac- 
cording to my own notions of honour, so that solu- 
tion of the difficulty is impossible. If only we could 
somehow twist that confounded prophecy, and per- 
suade him that it meant something quite different ! 
But you shall see him, Forde, and then we will con- 
sult again.” 

“Very good, I will. I wish you were not so set 
against matrimony. I am quite upset by what you 
tell me about Disney. Who was the girl who treated 
him so shamefully ? ” 

“ Miss Merrion.” 

‘ ‘ And you say he is coming home ? ” 

“By the Malabar.” 

“I shall ask him to come and stay with me, and 
teach him a little philosophy/’ said Dick, laughing. 


48 


THE IDES OF MATCH. 


CHAPTER VI. 

“ I THINK YOU KNEW A FRIEND OF MINE.” 

My friend was already too good to lose, 

And seemed in the way of improvement yet, 

When she crossed his path with her hunting-noose, 

And over him drew her net. 

Robert Browning. 

“It’s all very well,” said Tom, irritably, “but it is 
really nonsense to tell me you profess to understand 
this sort of thing. Hand over the beastly volume, 
Hope, and Til read you a selection.” 

“I shall certainly not hand over my precious book 
to you ! You Goth ! You Vandal ! You boy with- 
out a soul ! ” 

“You girl without a brain! I tell you what! 
One very salutary result has accrued from all my 
education. It has developed my critical faculty, it 
has given me an inquiring mind. When I see some- 
thing in print I don’t take it for granted that it’s sense, 
I ask at once, Why is this thus ? What is the reason 
of this thusness ? Now, if you were to imitate me 
in this, and solemnly ask yourself the why and 
wherefore of some of old Browning’s remarks, why, 
you’d collapse ! You couldn’t go on admiring him, 
you would say, as I say : The unintelligible is not 
the beautiful, the incoherent is not the admirable. 
Lucidity does not make a man a poet, but no man 
can be a poet who is not lucid. That’s what you 
would say if you had my felicitous flow of language, 
Hope ! Which you haven’t, Hope ! ” 

“Do you really mean me to infer that you think 
Mr. Browning should have brought down his poetry 


THE IDES OE MARCH 


49 

to the level of Mr. Thomas Saxon's understanding ? ” 
demanded Hope with scorn ineffable, as she lay back 
in a luxurious wicker chair in Muriel's sitting-room at 
Hesselburgh. 

It was the witching hour of five o'clock tea. The 
three young people had played tennis to their hearts' 
content all the afternoon, and now sat exhaustedly in 
their tennis costumes, enjoying themselves, “revel- 
ling,'' as Hope said, “in the luxury of an honestly- 
earned fatigue,'' and quarrelling, as usual. 

Muriel was motionless behind the pages of the last 
new novel — she left Hope and Tom to fight over 
Robert Browning as they pleased. Tom was on his 
back on the sofa, fanning himself with his shapeless 
tennis hat and ready for the fray, as usual. 

“We are crushing,” he remarked with a fine disdain, 
in answer to Hope's thrust; “but better men than I 
am can't digest your pet poet, my lady ; you know 
that as well as Ido.” 

“I suppose many people console themselves with 
the idea that they are not the only fools in the world, 
Mr. Tom.” 

‘ £ And many others do love to plume themselves on 
understanding what another fellow can't, don't they 
duckie ? ” 

“That is a position in which many of your friends 
must be apt to find themselves, whether they wish it 
or not ! ” 

“Ah ! I suppose that is why I have so many 
friends. It is not a very flattering suggestion, but I 
feel at last I know the reason why I am sought out so 
persistently by the great and noble ones of the land. 
Thanks, so much, for enlightening me ! ” 

“Another cup of tea, please, Tom.” 

This brought the critic to a sitting posture, and for 
a moment stopped his tongue. 

“ My dear maligned Browning,” fondly said Hope, 
gazing lovingly at the page before her. “So they 
say you are unintelligible, do they? They call you 
unmelodious ! Tom, listen to this : 

4 


50 


THE IDES OF MARCH. 


“ ‘If at times 

My heart fails, as monotonous I paint 
These endless cloisters and eternal aisles 
With the same series — virgin, babe and saint, 

With the same cold, calm, beautiful regard ; 

At least no merchant traffics in my heart ! 

The sanctuary’s gloom at least shall ward 

Vain tongues from where my pictures stand apart. 

Only prayer breaks the silence of the shrine, 

Where, blackening in the daily candle-smoke, 

They moulder on the damp wall’s travertine, 

’Mid echoes the light footstep never woke ! ’ ” 

The delicate clear girl’s voice gave the most just 
expression to the devotion breathed in the rhythmical 
lines. The mixture of spiritual fervour and natural 
longing after recognition from the world, trembled in 
each sad utterance. 

“There!” she said, with a sigh, “I never read 
that without feeling as if I stood in one of those dim 
continental churches, with their odour of stale incense ; 
their smoky gloom mellowing the trumpery finery of 
their shrines into harmony, and their stillness drawing 
you irresistibly down on your knees to pray.” 

“Oh, yes, that’s the unknown painter fellow, isn’t 
it?” said Tom, who was by no means as ignorant as 
he pretended. “I don’t believe in him a bit, you 
know. He would have been famous if he could, you 
bet ? Old Baily, our head-master, used to dose us 
with Browning on a Sunday afternoon, and some of 
the fellows were very keen on it ; but it isn’t my 
line. Poor old Pictor ! How awfully out he was, if 
he only knew, 

“ ‘The sanctuary’s gloom at least shall ward 

Vain tongues from where my pictures stand apart.’ 

If only he had been in Dresden with me and heard 
the Yankee’s remark on the Sistine madonna ! ” 

“ But she is not hung in a church,” objected Hope. 

“ No, but in a room by herself, you know ; and 
everybody talks with bated breath, and a sort of hush 
falls over you when first you go in, and there is a 


THE IDES OF MARCH. 


51 


pause. Well! my Yankee walked right in, and stood, 
hands behind him, staring up for a minute or so ; 
then, turning to the misguided friend who had accom- 
panied him, he said, very loud, 4 She’s an uncom- 
monly fine-looking girl. I’ve a cousin remarkably 
like her myself, in the States.’” 

“ Tom ! ” 

“That’s a solemn fact. I heard him say it. He 
asked me the next night at table d’hote, which of 
Shakespeare’s plays had Valentine and Orson in it. 
He was a treat. But I liked him. He told me if I 
would come over to Brooklyn, he would see that I 
had front places everywhere ! ” 

4 4 Did he truly say that of the San Sisto ? ” 

44 He truly did. Ask Muriel if you don’t believe 
me. She heard it. But now, hand over that old 
Browning. You have given me an extract, 111 give 
you one. Where is the thing ? I know it’s got a title 
that has nothing whatever to do with it, like one of 
Albert Moore’s pictures, don’t you know ? Two flabby 
girls in green and yellow draperies lolling on a bath- 
room floor, one with a book, the other with a holly- 
hock. You consult the catalogue and find the title 
of the picture is 4 Nightshade.’ After a few painful 
moments, in which you feel as if you had lost your 
senses, you descry three red berries in the bottom 
left-hand corner of the canvas. Well, that’s one of 
Brbwning’s dodges, all over ! Listen to this : 

“ ‘Soft ! ’ I’d say, ‘soul mine, 

Three-score and ten years 
Let the blind mole mine, 

Digging out deniers ! 

Let the dazed hawk soar, 

Claim the sun’s rights too ! 

Turf ’t is thy walk’s o’er, 

Foliage thy flight’s to ! * 

What have you to say to those two last lines, eh, 
miss ? Shall I take them for a model of style ? ” 
Hope’s eager answer died away suddenly, for there 
was a modest tap at the door. 


52 


THE IDES OF MARCH. 


“ That’s nurse,” observed Tom, “ she shall be um- 
pire. I’ll read over this verse and see if she finds the 
sense obvious. Gome in, old lady ! Don’t be bash- 
ful ! ” 

The door opened, and Major Westmorland walked 
somewhat hesitatingly in. 

Up flew Tom, with an irreverent exclamation. 

“ Major ! I beg your pardon ! I thought you were 
nurse ! ” 

“ You compliment me,” said the Major, smiling; 

“ I feel as I were intruding, but Mrs. Saxon sent me 
in for some tea. ” 

“ Wake up, Muriel, ring for fresh tea, and we’ll 
each move on a place like the hatter,” cried Tom. 

“ Come, here’s a first-class chair ! Sit down and tell 
us what Miss Forde said to you.” 

The visitor obediently sat down, settling himself in 
his chair with a manner decidedly his own — impossible 
to describe, but very characteristic. 

He was one of those men who are remembered for 
their manners more than for their faces. Not that 
his manner was so very good, but that it was so ex- 
ceedingly distinctive. No disguising would disguise 
him, his every action would betray his identity. 

He sat down with a sense of comfort and ease. 
He had walked the five miles from Minster-gate to 
Hesselburgh, and had come in both hot and dusty. 
Rest was sweet, and the pretty rose-scented room ex- 
quisitely refreshing. Moreover, the pouring out of 
his mind to his friend Forde had been a great relief, 
though no very satisfactory solution of his difficulties 
had been arrived at. He felt more sociable, more 
ready to be amused than when he encountered poor 
Leo at luncheon time, 

His eye rested with a sense of satisfaction on Hope’s 
slim young figure, occupying only half of the big chair 
she sat in. Her pale pink gown threw up her nut- 
brown hair in pleasant relief ; the two hands folded 
lightly on her lap, with a fresh cambric handkerchief 
lightly crushed between, were such well-shaped, lady- 


THE IDES OF MARCH. 


53 

like, charming little hands, that he could hardly have 
desired a more pleasing object for his lazy gaze to rest 
upon. Muriel too, calm and fair, pouring out fresh 
tea, gave a comforting impression of boundless lei- 
sure ; fine weather and other ingredients for happiness 
all being a matter of course. Everything always was 
a matter of course to Muriel. Nothing that occurred 
ever seemed to surprise or disconcert her. If it were 
wet, it appeared trivial to complain of anything so 
entirly expected ; if fine, the bare idea of having sup- 
posed it would be anything else seemed prepos- 
terous. 

There was no pretence about any of the three — 
they seemed so simple that the lonely fellow’s heart 
went out to them. It would be pleasant to make a 
fourth among them, he thought. Surely these two 
girls were not designing — they were not after the type 
of the Colombo Miss Merrion, whose name seemed 
always ringing in his ears. He was so sick of the 
country-house girl of the period, with her elaborate 
tea-gowns and coiffures , her boundless experience in 
flirtation, her worldliness and cynicism and savoir 
faire . He was indeed glad that they had come to 
Hesselburgh instead of accepting Lord Bala’s invita- 
tion. He knew the coverts here of old. He would 
get plenty of sport every day if he chose, and look 
forward to coming in to a cup of tea in this bewitch- 
ing room, with these three happy young beings to 
divert him with their fresh nonsense. 

He sat for about twenty minutes, listening delight- 
edly to their chatter — saying nothing himself, but 
keenly enjoying all the nonsense talked by the others. 
Only once was he directly appealed to, and that by 
Tom, on the all-important Browning question. After 
a little hesitation the Major was fain to confess to a 
decided liking for the poet in question ; on which 
Hope softly clapped those expressive little hands to- 
gether, so letting the handkerchief flutter to the ground, 
and giving him a chance to stoop his tall head till he 
had reclaimed it. A little whiff of violets came from 


THE IDES OF MARCH. 


54 

it as he returned it to its owner. He thought that 
Hope somehow suggested violets, and wondered 
what her other name was. 

She was evidently not quite so young as Miss Saxon. 
There was a pretty little assumption of seniority in 
her manner, but still she was young ; the bloom of 
girlhood still hung on her small, smooth cheeks, 
there were no dark lines under the limpid eyes. That 
fresh enjoyment of life just for the sake of living, 
which belongs only to youth, was evidently hers. 
The flash of that sudden smile — that smile revealing 
such an unexpected, tantalising, wonderful dimple 
just in the corner of the sweet, frank mouth — oh, that 
was indeed the smile of youth, free and unburdened 
with memories, the smile of that liberty which comes 
only of a clear conscience. So reflected the Major 
for his own delectation, while Tom was narrating 
spicily to Hope how a certain London firm sent emis- 
saries to the pit of every London theatre to collect 
orange-peel for their marmalade ; and, when he had 
succeeded in making her feel quite sick, consolingly 
adding that all theirs was home-made, and she might 
really rely on it. 

At this unwelcome moment one of the footmen 
appeared at the door. 

“Miss Saxon and Mr. Thomas is wanted in the 
drawing-room, to see Admiral and Mrs. Bligh.” 

“It is always like that just when we are comfor- 
table, ” said Muriel, rising with perfect serenity. 
“Major Westmorland, I must leave you to amuse 
Miss Merrion.” 

A sudden dead silence fell, as the door closed on 
the brother and sister. Major Westmorland stood 
with knit brows, looking puzzled ; he thought he had 
heard incorrectly. 

“Excuse my stupidity, but what did Miss Saxon 
say your name was ? ” he asked. 

“My name is Merrion,” she answered, — with that 
smile ! 

“I suppose you are no relation of some Merrions 


THE IDES OF MATCH 


55 

I heard about,” he said, nervously. “Were you ever 
in Ceylon ? ” 

There was a look, yes ! undoubtedly there was a 
look as of some memory that was not pleasant in 
Hopes clear eyes. 

“Yes, I was in Colombo all last winter; I have 
not long been home.” 

He could not believe his ears. But no ! impossible ! 
This could not be the girl ! She must have a sister. 

“You have a sister, have you not?” he asked, 
eagerly. 

She shook her head. 

“Two brothers, but no sister.” 

Horror ! He felt as if he, like his father, were going 
mad. Could it be conceivable that this fresh, inno- 
cent-faced girl was the very woman whose name he 
execrated above all women just then, the woman who 
had broken his friend’s heart ? Oh, if it were so, then 
was every woman ever born a mass of lies and 
treachery — the fairer her face the deeper the depth of 
untruth it concealed. He was resolved to ascertain ; 
for, if this were true, then never would he believe in 
any feminine /thing hereafter forever. 

“If you were in Colombo last winter,” he slowly 
said, “I think you knew a friend of mine out there, 
Captain Disney.” 

The colour flew to the girl’s face, suffusing neck 
and brow in a scarlet tide. He could see how the 
name moved her. She did not answer for a minute 
or two ; perhaps she could not command her voice. 
At last, 

“Was it from Captain Disney that you heard about 
me ? ” she asked, looking straight at the Major as she 
put the question. 

“ It was ; ” he answered, drily, yet unable for some 
reason, to help feeling mean as he met that direct 
gaze. 

She saw, most likely, the curled lip, the bitter con- 
tempt in his face as they confronted each other, but 
she did not waver, She had risen too, and stood 


THE IDES OF MARCH 


56 

before him, slight and girlish and slim in her simple 
gown ; so innocuous to look upon, and yet he could 
feel how dangerous she was. 

“ He is a great friend of yours ?” she asked. 

“He is a great friend ; my best.” 

“ I think we had better not speak of him,” she said, 
gently. 

“ I entirely agree with you. I could not trust 
myself to speak of him, to you. ” 

Without another word she rose and walked out of 
the room, closing the door behind her. The little 
handkerchief again fell to the ground, and again, as 
the door shut, the Major picked it up. The whiff of 
violets were again discernible. 

“Faugh !” he said, to himself, with feelings of the 
bitterest disgust, “that I should be in the house with 
her ! Of all women on this earth that I should be 
under the same roof with the girl who jilted Disney ( 
And the last woman likely to do such a thing if one 
went by the look of her. What an extraordinary 
coincidence ! What an unfortunate thing ! ” 


CHAPTER VII. 

A DECLARATION OF WAR. 

Utter contemptibility, nor more 

Nor less. Contemptibility— exempt 

How could I, from its proper due — contempt. 

R. Browning. 

Hope Merrion, as she walked swiftly along the cor- 
ridor in the direction of her own room, was experienc- 
ing a feeling altogether new to her. Never once in 
her three or four years career as a “grown-up young 
lady ” had any male thing looked upon her save with 
approbation, This evening a man — a stranger — had 


THE IDES OF MARCH. 57 

dared to stand before her with indignant contempt in 
every line of his strong . face. He had scorched her 
with his scorn, he had lashed her with the expression 
of his angry eyes. 

Of course it was, in itself, a little thing. What 
should Hope care for the unconcealed ill-opinion of 
one stray man ? Why trouble that he should be ill- 
bred enough to show it ? 

It is hard for a woman, nevertheless, to endure a 
man’s disdain. 

Disney’s friend ! Poor Disney ! And he despised 
her. He looked down upon her, as a fickle woman, 
who had laid his friend’s heart in the dust and trodden 
on it for sport. She even laughed a little, though 
sadly, as she fancied for a moment the light in which 
Captain Disney’s friend must regard her. 

She walked into her room, which was flooded with 
evening sunshine. A lime-tree looked in through one 
of the windows, and its translucent leaves were 
wonderful with the effect of warm light through 
them. 

The house was quite a modern one, built in the 
pretty “ Queen Anne ” affectation of a few years ago ; 
all the windows were casemented, and had deep 
window-seats. Miss Merrion went across her room 
and sat down, with her forehead against the stone 
mullion, and the lime branches softly caressing her 
innocent-looking cheek. 

“ And of course it is true,” she reflected. “ I did 
break it off. I cannot deny it. I cannot deny that 
he thought I treated him badly. Oh ! the satire of it ! 
I treated him badly ! ” A small sarcastic laugh 
escaped her. “Oh, life is so very hard to live,” was 
her inward lament. “It all goes on so nicely for a 
bit, you slip along so easily, and feel so content with 
yourself, and then all of a sudden, without any 
warning, there is a tangle and a knot, what my nurse 
used to call a * snarl ’ in my hair ! . . . And you 
find everything has broken off short. I had a pre- 
sentiment this morning that something unpleasant 


THE IDES OF MARCH. 


5 * 

was coming. That man ! I wish he would go 
away. ” 

It was not so much the manifest disapproval of 
the Major, as the memories he had stirred, which so 
discomfited her. He had brought keenly to mind 
something that she wished so particularly to forget — - 
her great mistake, the passage in her life which she 
must always so keenly regret. She hated the bare 
mention of her ill-fated visit to Ceylon. But this 
man’s attitude put things in a new, a worse light. 
She felt as if she had never before appreciated her 
discarded lover’s side of the question. She felt her- 
self more to blame than ever before, in face of the 
righteous anger of the captain’s friend. It was as 
unpleasant as novel, it stirred up a most distasteful 
feeling within her, a feeling of guilt. She struggled 
against the injustice of it, but could not banish it. 

And now she had to be in the same house with the 
man who held this opinion of her. Day after day 
she would have to meet him and know what he 
thought. Oh, certainly, her pleasure was over ; the 
visit should be shortened as much as decency per- 
mitted. How easy it had been to forget painful 
things in Tom’s jovial company ! How pleasant to 
run wild with him, and to enjoy each day as it rolled 
by, without caring for the days behind, or fearing 
those to come ! 

Now, the face of this man, Edgar Disney’s friend, 
would reproach every peal of laughter, deprecate 
every light-hearted ramble. It would be a perpetual 
reminder, a constant calling to order, of the girl who 
had behaved so badly, and had so little right to exult 
in her unjustly recovered freedom. For the hun- 
dredth time in her life she wished she had never met 
Edgar Disney. 

The vanity of that wish brought tears to her eyes, 
rare tears, for Hope very seldom cried. 

Was it to be worse than she thought ? A dark 
background henceforth inseparable from the picture 
of her life ? A hot blush of shame crept over her 


THE IDES OF MARCH. 


59 

small, expressive face ; the hardly-wrung tears 
coursed each other unheeded over her cheeks. Her 
little mouth was drawn down piteously at the 
corners. Westmorland had made her very miserable. 
The small summer wind sighed sympathetically 
among the lime-leaves, and ruffled her pretty hair. 
The sun sank lower, lower towards the dark hill 
which would presently hide him from view. Hope 
felt very lonely. 

A childish wish sprang up all uninvited in her 
heart for some one with strong arms to enfold her, a 
broad breast to support her forlorn head, a comforting 
voice to tell her that she must not be unhappy. 
There was none such in the world. Her brother 
Fred was married, and lived a wealthy, common- 
place life in London, with his handsome, common- 
place wife and his three fine, healthy children. Her 
brother Herbert was with his regiment in Ceylon, and 
very much inclined to agree with Major Westmorland 
about Hope's treatment of Disney. 

The girl was an orphan, and her nominal home 
was with Fred in Berkeley Square, or with her aunt, 
the Honourable Mrs. Paul, in Adelaide Crescent, 
Brighton. Neither of these homes was in any way 
congenial to the girl. She liked better to be with her 
school-friend, Muriel Saxon, than anywhere else. 
Now, in consequence of that wretched affair last 
winter, was her happiness here to be marred as 
well ? 

She was used to take a very healthy, rational view 
of life ; there was nothing morbid or hysterical in her 
nature ; repining was a most unusual thing with her. 
But this evening she had this strange feeling of loneli- 
ness — such a sensation as might be the experience of 
an accused maiden in the lists with no champion to 
do battle for her. 

“There is no one to stand up for me," she reflected 
sadly. “Nobody except Lady Caroline." 

Lady Caroline Loftus was an Irish cousin who had 
chaperoned Hope to Ceylon and defended the girl 


6o 


THE IDES OF MATCH. 


through thick and thin. But Lady Caroline being the 
sole stay of her family, all more or less infirm and 
with incomes impaired by a long course of boycot- 
ting, was not by any means always available. Hope 
wanted her now. 

She wanted some one to raise her in her own es- 
timation, to soothe her ruffled pride, replace her 
lowered self-respect. But fruitless longing is a dan- 
gerous as well as a strikingly futile occupation ; 
it begets “tears, idle tears/’ and other inconveniences 
in the shape of headaches and swollen eyelids. Leo 
Forde might have been surprised had she known how 
very much abased was the artistically arranged head 
of the Hope who had smiled so buoyantly that 
morning from her seat at Tom’s side in the dog-cart. 

Hope bethought her in time that she must not ap- 
pear at dinner with swollen eyelids, if only to avoid 
giving occasion of triumph to that odious Major. 
She applied first the traditional cold water ; then with 
more success, eau-de-Cologne. Just as almost all 
traces, were obliterated, Bowen, her maid, appeared to 
dress her. 

A small reaction had set in. Hope was angry at 
her own late break-down. She was defiant now, 
determined to show herself by no means conscience- 
stricken. Who was the Major, pray, that he or his 
opinion should have any influence with her? She 
was not quite so weak as that, she should hope. 

She dressed herself with special care, hung peril- 
ously out of her window to snatch some of the climb- 
ing gloire de Dijons for a finishing touch and when 
she was ready, walked fearlessly down to what Tom 
called the “week-day drawing-room,” prepared to 
brave whatever might befall. 

Only one person was present when she entered — 
Mr. Westmorland the elder — seated at a Chippendale 
writing-table, carefully inscribing something in a 
small, delicately-bound volume. He looked very 
handsome as the evening light fell upon him, his 
gold nippers forming, as they often do with men, a 


THE IDES OF MATCH. 


6 1 

decided improvement to his face and expression. It 
was never the custom of the Saxon family to assemble 
one moment before it was necessary. Mrs. Saxon 
and her ever-faithful spouse were probably roaming 
the kitchen-gardens together, and contemplating the 
wall-fruit. Tom was doubtless in the stables, or 
giving a valedictory glance to his new retriever-pup ; 
and Muriel was invariably late for everything. 

Mr. Westmorland looked up, over his spectacles, 
as Hope rustled softly in. 

“Ah! Miss Merrion,” he said, rising gallantly, 
“there you are! Let me find you a seat. How 
pretty the young ladies do look nowadays in their 
well-fitting gowns. The young should always wear 
white ! Ah, my dear, I am not a bigot, as so many 
old fogeys are, I march with the times. I freely ad- 
mit that dress has improved tremendously of late. 
We had no such thing when I was young, no such 
thing as art applied to dress ! ” 

Hope sank with a pleased laugh into the chair 
placed by the old beau. 

“ Oh, how clever you are ! ” she said, “ you have 
done me so much good with that pretty compliment. 
I was feeling a little dissatisfied with myself, and you 
not only saw what was amiss, but knew at once how 
to remedy it ! Do I really look nice ? ” 

She turned up to him a look of playful daring, be- 
fore which his elderly outworks went down without 
a struggle. What a witch this girl was ! For a mo- 
ment his heart leapt within him as it flashed across 
him, that even Evelyn could hardly stand against a 
power such as this. Its unconsciousness was the 
charm of it. He remained for a moment transfixed. 
Many and many a pretty girl had he met, and he 
despised them all ; but rarely had he encountered one 
with these allurements, with this subtle, nameless 
magic about her every look and tone. 

“ Here for the first time in my life,” he thought, 
“ I see a woman whom men might die for, a woman 
so for above the average nice girl that she could 


62 


THE IDES OF MATCH. 


never be supplanted nor forgotten, a woman who, 
dead, could hold the life-long devotion of a living 
man, even in this cold-hearted century of ours.” 

“ How you look at me ! ” said Hope, tentatively. 
“Iam afraid you disapprove of my asking straight 
out for a compliment.” 

“I am silent for want of inspiration, my dear 
young lady ; an every-day compliment will hardly 
suit such a beauty as one meets once in a lifetime. ” 
A soft glow of pleasure and interest lit up the girls 
face. Leaning on her elbow she smiled at him. 

“That is beautiful,” she said, “ it is like the com- 
pliments the gentlemen at Bath made in the time of 
Evelina ! And you said it so well, quite as if you 
meant it ! I like to be talked to like that. It makes 
me feel as if I were on a pedestal.” — “He is far nicer 
than his son,” she was inwardly reflecting. 

“ If I were young again, Miss Merrion,” said he, 
with a gallant bow, “you should hear what I could 
do in the way of a compliment. Ah ! They have lost 
the art nowadays ! Worse than that, they pride them- 
selves upon it. Had you been young when I was, 
you should have had more than pretty speeches 1 
I would have written verses in your praise ; I should 
not have been ashamed to serenade you either ! In 
those days a young man was proud of his love, he 
cared not who knew how he adored his lady, whether 
she were kind or cruel. Ha!” he laughed satirically, 

‘ ‘ we have indeed changed all that. Secrecy is the 
order of the day — secrecy, lest the tender masculine 
vanity should by chance receive a blow, lest any one 
should guess that the valuable self has been offered 
and rejected ! The young men like to be on the safe 
side, Miss Merrion. If you refuse them in private, it 
is so easy for them to at least infer, if they do not 
announce, in public, that you were very ready to 
have had them, if they had but asked you ! I know 
them ! Insufferable puppies ! ” 

“Oh, that is so true ! ” said Hope, with vivacity. 

‘ ‘ So very true, indeed it is ! I know a girl who was 


THE IDES OF MARCH. 


63 

treated just like that ! Do you know what tne con- 
sequence is ? That girls are beginning to think that, 
in self-defence, they must do away with reticence, 
and publish what hitherto they have felt it a point of 
honour to conceal ! We shall soon begin to make 
lists of our victims’ names, as I hear they do in 
America. ” 

“I should, if I were you,” said Mr. Westmorland, 
with his admiring gaze fixed on the girl. 

He was in elysium for the time being. Every little 
movement, each fleeting expression and momentary 
gesture of this girl increased his admiration of her. 
Here indeed was a heart worth conquering, and, as 
his keen instinct told him, a heart not easily to be 
conquered. Oh, she was charming — charming ! If 
Evelyn were not a very flint, he must be touched at 
last. Evelyn’s father wished he were young again — 
wished that he were once more the handsome, dan- 
gerous Clifford Westmorland who had carried off the 
reigning heiress and beauty in the teeth of many 
rivals, being only a younger son, with nothing but 
himself to recommend him. Such an enterprise had 
been what his soul loved. Now the desire for it had 
passed away. Ill-health had robbed him prematurely 
of his youth — what he wanted was to see his own 
experience reproduced in his son. But no ! Hope- 
lessly stolid, hopelessly perverse, was Evelyn. As 
his father frequently tauntingly told him, he seemed 
to be born without the capacity for love. 

But, whatever might be the father s private opinion 
of his unimpressionable son, it was by no means his 
policy to speak of him slightingly to others — least of 
all to this girl, whom he already coveted as his 
daughter-in-law. Rather was it his aim, by a few 
casual, well-directed insinuations, to inspire an in- 
terest in this disappointing person, to seek to fire the 
feminine imagination with an idea which he himself 
believed to be the greatest of delusions — namely, that 
the Major, being such still water, ran very deep. 

“Yes,” he said, reflectively, idly tapping one of his 


64 


THE IDES OF MARCH. 


well-shaped, carefully soignees hands with his gold 
pince-nez , “I am always telling that son of mine that 
people will say he has been rejected if he goes about 
with that long face, and remains much longer a 
bachelor. But my son is hard to please — a family 
failing : decidedly hard to please.” 

“Is he? I daresay,” said Hope, unresponsively, 
and with a little inward shrinking from a disagreeable 
memory. 

“ Oh, yes ! Look at him — unmarried still ! Some 
people might think he had been hard hit, you know; 
but I know better. I am in his confidence, and I 
know it is the family fate.” 

It was Mr. Westmorland's invariable custom to 
weave such pleasing fictions into his conversation, 
whenever the case seemed to require them. He 
paused a moment to enjoy the sound of these, and 
then resumed. 

“ Have you ever noticed his chin — the prominence 
of his chin ? That denotes ideality. Such a man 
will go through life seeking an ideal. If he realises 
it, well and good : if not, he will never be mated.” 

‘ ‘ I should think the latter is more probable, ’ said 
Hope, drily. 

She was greatly amused. Tom had prepared her, 
it will be remembered, for the elder Westmorland’s 
vicarious love-making. 

“I should have said so yesterday, Miss Merrion,” 
said the handsome old man, with so much intention 
that she almost laughed outright. 

Just then the door opened, and the subject of this 
interesting conversation stalked solemnly into the 
room, his face rearing itself gloomily over his ex- 
panse of immaculate shirt-front. 

Hope’s heart gave a nervous throb as he entered, 
and he, when he perceived her, remained at the 
further end of the room, and looked out of the most 
distant window. 

“Come and join us, Evelyn,” said his father, in 
his blandest tones. “Miss Merrion and I are having 


THE IDES OF MATCH. 


65 

a most interesting discussion on a very vital point — 
as to what are likely to be the consequences to a 
man who goes through life with an ideal. ” 

“That is a subject on which I should imagine Miss 
Merrion to be excellently well qualified to speak,” 
said the Major, with slow composure. As he spoke, 
he stooped, unbolted the window, and passed out 
upon the lawn, where he was immediately seen in 
conversation with his host and hostess. 

“ The manners of a bear,” reflected his fond father, 
with wrath unspeakable. 

“ I hate him,” was Hope’s simple reflection, as she 
bit her lip with resentment. 

Mrs. Saxon walked into the room, removing from 
her shoulders the wrap she had worn for her garden 
excursion, and revealing herself in virgin white, as 
usual, her appearance conveying a general impression 
that head and neck and arms alike required covering, 
or adornment of some kind. 

Her son dashed in at almost the same moment, 
hastily fastening the left cuff of his shirt, and with an 
air of having been hustled into his clothes at the 
shortest notice. 

“We won’t wait for Muriel ; Major Westmorland, 
please take Miss Merrion,” said Mrs. Saxon. 

As she spoke, the door opened to admit of Muriel’s 
leisurely entrance, as cool as Tom’s had been flurried. 
Her the Major deliberately approached, offering his 
arm. 

“Muriel, oh ! I said Hope,” began Mrs. Saxon. 

“ I thought you addressed my father,” said Evelyn, 
innocently. 

“I see,” thought Hope, defiantly, as with a merry 
smile at her hostess she took Tom’s joyfully extended 
arm and sailed away to the dining-room. “I see, he 
is going to give his mind to slighting me, to making 
my life a burden with little insults. All very amusing, 
my dear sir, so long as you have it all your own 
way ; but two can play at that game, and I am not 
quite a novice either, as you may chance shortly to 
discover.” 5 


66 


THE IDES OF MARCH. 


CHAPTER VIII. 

A NORCHESTER FESTIVITY. 

My son will find revealed 

My love, by his. I bow resigned my head : 

But love, alas ! comes idly to the dead ! 

Warburton Pike. 

The Finches were of the more genial denizens of 
Norchester. They dwelt a mile or two out of the 
town, on the opposite side to Hesselburgh. The 
family was small, consisting only of a handsome, 
kindly, elderly man, and his third wife. Nature had 
not framed Mr. Finch to live alone ; and when his 
two helpmeets were successively carried from him, 
leaving no children to supply their places, his emi- 
nently sociable disposition prompted him to seek a 
third. They were the sweetest tempered couple for 
miles around, and Duffield, as their pretty, comfort- 
able, unpretentious place was called, was almost the 
only house where one met, united, those three deadly 
schisms — the county clique, the cathedral clique, 
and the town clique. It gave Mr. Finch just as much 
real pleasure to receive Mrs. Hancock and the Miss 
Presses, and to fill them with his good things, as to 
entertain the Dean himself, with his cultivated pa- 
ganism, and his hideous wife ; or the Carey-Lenoxes, 
with their promiscuous troop of visitors, their scan- 
dalous little court stories, and their entire belief in 
their own superiority. 

The Finches liked their visitors to come en masse. 
No ceremonious picking out of two representatives 
would satisfy the genial host. 

“Why, Mrs. Saxon,” he would say, “where are 
all the young people you had with you in the Minster 


THE IDES OF MARCH. 


67 

last Sunday ? Such a delightful group of pretty faces, I 
was looking forward to having my gardens decorated 
gratis ! ” 

Mrs. Saxon approved of the Finches. She liked 
them because there was no humbug about them. 
Everything genuine found favour in her sight. She 
liked their omnium gatherum too. Priding herself on 
being a daughter of the people, she mixed with whom 
she chose, careless of any offence she so gave to 
local prejudice. She never declined an invitation to 
Duffield, knowing that there she was sure of meeting 
everybody, and of being thoroughly well amused. 

The Hesselburgh party, accordingly, on the day 
following the arrival of the Westmorlands, had orders 
to turn out in force to one of the Finches' big garden- 
parties. 

“Seven of us," said Mrs. Saxon with pride, survey- 
ing them all assembled in the hall. “Two for 
the victoria, four for the dog-cart — oh, are you going 
to ride, Athelstan ? ” addressing her husband. 

“No, my dearest; the Major is going to ride,” 
said Mr. Saxon, amiably. 

“Oh ! How was that arranged? ” demanded his 
wife, in some surprise. ‘ ‘ I thought the four young 
people preferred driving together ? ” 

“Westmorland's own choice, mater” said Tom, 
lightly, as he threw the dust-rug over Miss Merrion’s 
knees ; “so Hope and I are going to sit behind, and 
pater s going to drive, and if we don’t get spilt in the 
middle of the market-place, why, my name isn't Tom 
Saxon, that's all.” 

“Tom, you had better not let your father drive 
Maidenhair, you really had not,” said the mater , 
anxiously. “Major Westmorland, I am afraid you 
are sacrificing yourself for the public weal.” 

“ On the contrary, I assure you,” replied Evelyn, 
in those conventional tones which may mean any- 
thing you please. 

“ Oh, well, settle it as you choose,” said the lady 
who never made a fuss about anything ; ‘ ‘ but Ath- 


68 


THE IDES OF MARCH. 


elstan, put on your spectacles, I beg, or you will run 
into something to a certainty.” 

“ Burro wes, you might put a little lint and arnica 
into the trap for bandaging the wounded,” said Tom 
irreverently, to the footman. ‘ ‘ It’s all serene, mater ” 
he added consolingly; “Muriel can drive Maiden- 
hair if she proves too much for pater. ” 

“Oh, Muriel, to be sure,” said Mrs. Saxon, in a 
relieved tone, stepping into the victoria with Mr. 
Westmorland. 

“Master Tom is a handful,” observed that gentle- 
man. 

He disliked Tom because he never knew whether 
he was laughing at him or not, the young gentleman’s 
command of feature being great. 

“Tom?” said the mater , coolly. “Oh, he’s very 
well in hand ; but I give him his head a bit while 
he is fresh. If you hold them in too tight you spoil 
their mouth, you know ; young men or colts, it is all 
the same.” 

“Ah, that is all very well, my dear madam,” 
sighed the widower, “ but it does not always answer. 
Give them an inch and they will take an ell. Look 
at my son.” 

“ I do look at him, and a better son I never saw. 
He is a credit to your training.” 

He heaved a sigh. Should he or should he not 
confide to this sympathising friend a part of his dis- 
tress ? 

He stole a look at her. Much as he admired her 
ability and appreciated her cuisine , he did wish she 
were not quite so frankly, so undisguisably hideous. 
She wore a straw hat to-day, with a plain band of 
ribbon — a hat which would have looked simply be- 
witching on Leo Forde. It was a caricature in its 
present position. Yet how kind she was ! How he 
always enjoyed his visits to her house, the run of her 
library, the please-yourself ease and comfort of the 
whole menage. His mouth seemed to become un- 
sealed in spite of himself. 


The ides of march 69 

“You must know that I am distressed about my 
son,” he said. 

“Indeed ! ” said she. “You surprise me.” 

“ Ah ! doubtless — doubtless. It is a great trouble to 
me, I freely own. It seems to me, Mrs. Saxon, that 
fathers and sons do not often understand each other. ” 

“Very likely not. For the reason that many 
fathers, in their extreme folly, expect their sons to be 
like them. It is a most unusual thing, as my ex- 
perience shows me, for a son to resemble his father 
closely, either in tastes or disposition. Look at my 
Tom as a shining example ! But is it impossible to 
understand a nature because it is unlike your own ? 
I think not. And see what opportunities parents 
have — if they would but use them — of finding out 
their children's dispositions. When a child is young, 
it is unconscious ; it will betray itself a thousand times 
a day : its natural tendencies lie bare before you. I 
know my two, as no human being on earth knows 
them. They are not in the least like either their 
father or me ; but that does not distress us by any 
means. ” 

“Ah ! no. Very true, as you say ; but my son is 
a different sort : he is so terribly reserved. ” 

“ Now, of course he is. Few men of his age wear 
their heart on their sleeve. But how about those 
days when he wore velvet frocks and long curls? 
He was scarcely reserved then, was he? ” 

“ I am sure,” Mr. Westmorland was fain to confess 
— “I am sure I have no distinct recollection of what 
he was. Young children have never interested me 
greatly. He was with his mother, or the nurses, I 
suppose.” 

“Ah! true — he has lost his mother,” said Mrs. 
Saxon, with a sudden inflection of real pity in her 
voice. “It is the mother who is nature’s own de- 
tective — who can see through the child's transparent 
wiles, distinguish shyness from want of feeling, and 
ignorance from impertinence. I have sometimes 
wished I had a larger nurseryful — it is so unspeakably 


THE IDES OF MARCH 


70 

interesting to watch the development of a family of 
children. ” 

“Humph! I neglected my opportunities, ” said 
Evelyn's father, drily. ‘ ‘ I belong to an older school, 
Mrs. Saxon. I have always sympathised with Sir 
Anthony Absolute, I am bold enough to confess. I 
expect that, when I give an order, my son shall obey 
it. If not, I have my remedy — I can disinherit him." 
He spoke with a suppressed excitement, red spots 
glowing in his pale cheeks, and tremulously, as if in 
defiant protest. “ That is my theory — make them feel 
it. If they choose to be rebellious, appeal to their 
self-interest. No need to study individual temper- 
ament to discover that, madam ; that's a motive that 
appeals to all humanity, and saves endless trouble." 

“And have you found it invariably successful?” 
demanded the lady, with a coolness which rather 
took him aback. 

He had expected, perhaps, surprise at his heretical 
doctrine — depreciation of it — an urging of the supe- 
riority of modern ideas. This demand for a practical 
illustration of results was rather embarrassing. He 
hesitated. 

“You tell me you have found that to be your 
son Evelyn's disposition ? ” she calmly interrogated. 
“You give me to understand that, with him, no 
motive is so powerful as self-interest — that he will do 
anything, however unwillingly, sooner than lose his 
inheritance ? ” 

“ I can't exactly say that — no,” was the chagrined 
answer. “ But that is just what I complain of. 
With any ordinary man it would answer perfectly, it 
must ! With any healthy, rational disposition. Your 
son Tom, for instance ; dock his allowance, I'd un- 
dertake to drive him with no other curb. But Evelyn 
— such an unfortunate, dogged, obstinate young 
rebel ! I grow warm, and you must excuse me, Mrs. 
Saxon, but this is a subject that touches me nearly. 
Why, modern people seem to me to have the most 
contorted ideas. Self-interest, you talk of, as if that 


THE IDES OF MATCH. 


71 


were such an ignoble thing. I deny it. A man is 
bound to take an interest in himself, a proper pride 
in his position. Doesn’t disinheritance mean dis- 
grace? Tell me that. Of course it does. A man’s 
father doesn’t cast him off for nothing, and it is a 
stigma he will carry to his grave. The young man 
who is not influenced by such a threat is abnormal, 
unnatural, I say.” 

Mrs. Saxon was silent for some minutes, finding 
herself in the puzzling position of having so much 
to say in answer to this strange doctrine, that she 
scarcely knew where to begin. At last she decided 
that, as Mr. Westmorland had evidently some definite 
sore point which occupied all his thoughts, while she 
was arguing merely on general grounds, it might be 
as well to find out more of his grievance, if possible. 

“ Is there, then, some definite request of yours 
which the Major has refused?” asked she. 

“ There is,” was the brief answer. 

“I am very sorry to hear it.” 

Mr. Westmorland fidgeted about in an uneasy 
silence for a few minutes, while the carriage bowled 
swiftly on through the somewhat uneventful country 
round Norchester. At last, 

“ I know you like frankness,” he said, “ and I may 
as well tell you what it is. You will scarcely think 
the one demand I make of my only son unreason- 
able, I think. I ask him to marry ; merely that. I 
do not say, marry this lady, or that lady. I do not 
limit his choice in any way, I simply ask him to do 
his obvious duty as sole representative of a very old 
family. There you have my trouble.” 

“ Does Major Westmorland' decline to marry ?” 

“ Absolutely.” 

“ Giving no reasons ? ” 

“ Merely that of disinclination.” 

The lady mused a moment or so. 

“ Does he give you to understand that he intends 
never to change his mind ? ” 

“Well, no, hardly that, but— — ” 


72 


THE IDES OF MARCH. 


“Oh, then of course it is only a question of time,” 
she broke in, with a relieved smile. “You cannot 
expect a young man to settle at any exactly given 
date, can you ? ” 

Her guest winced, reddened, and paled. In his 
eye shone an uneasy gleam. Watching him she 
wondered what lay under the surface. She was 
satisfied that she had not heard all. 

‘ ‘ I think my son has had rope enough, Mrs. Saxon. 
Had I insisted on his marrying ten years ago, it 
might have been arbitrary ; but now ! He is past 
thirty, and I have been very patient ” 

“ Could you not be patient a little longer? I can 
only imagine one thing likely to hinder a young 
man of your son’s age and position from marry- 
ing ” 

“And that is? ” 

“ To be repeatedly urged to do it. That is a natural 
perversity which you cannot help. He may be quite 
unconscious of it himself, yet it is pretty certain that, 
if he thought you would much rather he did not 
marry, he would be irresistibly impelled to do so.” 

“Do you really think that?” eagerly, feverishly 
asked he. 

“I do indeed. Give him to understand that you 
are not so anxious as you were, that you think 
perhaps he had better hesitate before committing him- 
self. It will be a work of time, perhaps, but it is not 
necessary, I suppose, that he should marry this year 
or next.” 

“Ah, but it is!” burst from Mr. Westmorland, 
before he had time to command himself. “That is 
to say,” he subjoined, nervously and hurriedly, “I 
am an old man, I have a — a curious presentiment. 
I want to live to see my daughter-in-law ; to see my 
grandson, if Heaven so will ; to be sure that the line 
will not end in Evelyn.” 

“But you are not so stricken in years, Mr. West- 
morland ! Come ! you can scarcely urge that plea. 
No, no, be comforted, all will go well. In his own 


THE IDES OF MARCH. 


73 

good time your son will take a wife, if he is let alone. 
But, if you continue to urge him, you may drive him 
into a celibacy which, in after years he will deeply 
regret. Don’t you see that ? ” 

He did not answer, but by a melancholy shake of 
the head. He dare not tell of the superstitious terrors 
with which he, was overwhelmed. Time ! Time was 
slipping away with a swiftness which made him 
frantic. Each passing day he longed to seize, and 
passionately hold it fast, till Evelyn had wrung from 
it all the opportunities which lay dormant in its sweet 
summer hours. Yet day after day was he compelled 
to see wasted, and escaping from his powerless 
hands ; and the year was rolling on to its end, to the 
dawn of that fateful year that was coming. Every 
now and then a paroxysm of vague terror shook him. 
The mania had been too long indulged. A practised 
doctor might have seen the dawn of incipient madness 
in the contracted brow and gleaming eye. Mrs. 
Saxon was really puzzled, she could not account for 
this morbid anxiety to see his son married. It must 
be a fad, she thought, simply a manifestation of that 
desire to absolutely dictate the future of their children 
which, in some parents, really amounts to mania. 
She could imagine that the Major might be annoying. 
There was a dogged silence about him, which would 
be pretty sure to grate on the nerves of a sensitive, 
irritable being like his father. On the other hand, 
the urging and goading, the perpetual fret caused by 
the paternal want of discrimination, was likely even 
to create that crust of obstinacy, certainly to increase 
it where it already existed. The hostess had been, 
to own the secret truth, a little disappointed in her 
younger guest, she had not thought him improved. 
Her remembrance of him was undoubtedly not the 
monosyllabic, impracticable, taciturn man he now 
appeared. She was now beginning to think that she 
had accidentally hit upon the key to the puzzle. 
Doubtless he was mortally afraid of Hope and Muriel, 
looking on both as hypothetical wives, and therefore 


74 


THE IDES OF MARCH 


certain foes. The situation was really rather an 
amusing one ! Mrs. Saxon felt guiltily inclined to 
laugh outright, but refrained, for fear of hurting the 
feelings of her companion, who certainly looked as if 
it were no laughing matter. 

They were bowling up the avenue at Duffield by 
now, and just in sight of the wide lawn gaily sprinkled 
with parti-coloured gowns and sable clerics, and here 
and there with a youth in tennis-attire, forming the 
nucleus of a bevy of fair ones. 

“Are we arrived ?” said Mr. Westmorland. “I 
need not, I know, remind you that what I have said 
is in the strictest confidence.” 

“Of course,” said she, simply, as she prepared to 
alight; “we will discuss the subject fully on some 
future occasion — we have not nearly exhausted it.” 

“Ah! Our young people are just behind,” said 
Mr. Westmorland, lifting his eyeglass to survey the 
approaching dog-cart. “ And that son of mine prefers 
morosely riding by himself to being in the society of 
two of the most charming girls I have ever met. 
Did you ever know such folly ? Is not my vexation 
natural ? ” 

“I cannot help confessing that I think his folly is 
natural : you really ought to know better than to 
make him so lamentably self-conscious, you know. 
But let us hope it will wear off as they know each 
other better. ” 

One large, limpid pair of eyes, from the many 
feminine pairs assembled on the lawn, watched with 
intense interest the arrival of the Hesselburgh party. 

Leo Forde, slim and tall, balancing her racquet in 
her slender fingers, was awaiting the next hour or 
two in painful suspense. Dick was not present. 
He was in charge of two critical cases, and could 
not make his appearance till late in the day. Now, 
would Major Westmorland recognise her? That was 
the great, the thrilling question ! 

Yesterday he had, apparently, never looked at 
her. He had lunched hastily, and escaped to the 


THE IDES OF MARCH. 


75 

surgery to talk business with Richard. Would he, 
to-day, entirely ignore her ? Leo was mischievously 
determined to try the experiment by putting herself 
decisively in his way. Not that she wanted to talk 
to him — ill-mannered, ill-tempered man that he was 
— but that she longed — oh, how she longed ! to be 
introduced to the Saxons. 


CHAPTER IX. 
mr. Westmorland’s hopes rise. 

I wait for my story — the birds cannot sing it, 

Not one, as he sits on the tree ; 

The bells cannot ring it, but long years, O bring it ! 

Such as I wish it to be. 

Jean Ingelow. 

The Hesselburgh party advanced into the gardens 
with cruel tardiness. It really was hateful of them 
to be so long saluting the host and hostess, intro- 
ducing their guests — absolutely stopping to admire 
the archery prizes spread out on a table near 1 

Some one else besides Leo was minutely observing 
their progress ; Mrs. Hancock, in the celebrated 
purple sprigged gown, with purple complexion to 
match, and bright pink bonnet-strings. She was sit- 
ting enthroned under the big plane-tree, the terror of 
all the youths and maidens present, who had by 
common consent removed themselves to a safe dis- 
tance ; with the one exception of Miss Forde, who, 
as is known, always dared the lady to do her 
worst. 

The girl was standing purposely within earshot, 
and soon had the satisfaction of hearing a few com- 
ments. 

“ Gracious ! Is that Mrs. Saxon or her son in the 


THE IDES OF MARCH 


76 

short hair, the sailor-hat, and the shirt-front ? Oh, 
that’s the lady, is it ? Looks rather as if nature had 
made a mistake.” 

“One always meets such a very — ahem! — inclu- 
sive set at Duftield,” rejoined Mrs. Shorthouse, with 
polite venom. 

This lady’s husband had only last year been pro- 
moted to the honour and glory of the Residence. 
She had spent the required three months in Nor- 
chester, and Mrs. Saxon had not called upon her. 
Consequently Mrs. Hancock had a congenial lis- 
tener. 

“What are the Saxons? In trade, I hear,” she 
went on, with assumed indifference. 

“ Oh, that matters nothing nowadays. I hear that 
the daughter of a pork-butcher was lately selected, 
out of many candidates, as a governess for royalty,” 
vindictively said the lady of the sprigged foulard. 

“ Indeed ! It is not so in our family,” with a sigh 
of satisfaction. “Nothing of that sort tolerated at 
Castle Tully.” 

Mrs. Shorthouse was the daughter of an Irish 
lawyer who had been knighted. 

■ * I assure you I hear that in London those Saxons 
are received everywhere,” pursued Mrs. Hancock. 

“That can be easily believed. London is a sort 
of pot-pourri nowadays, where wealth is always sure 
of a footing. The county is the only place where 
the distinctions of rank are at all preserved. ” 

Leo could bear it no longer. She turned away 
from the two speakers, divided between anger and 
amusement. 

“Yes,” she thought, “it is good manners, not 
good birth, that the Londoners admire, I believe. It 
is only here in Norchester that you may be as inso- 
lent as you please, provided you know who your 
great-grandfather was. ” 

She looked up suddenly, to find herself face to face 
with her visitor of yesterday. 

Evelyn remembered her at once. He was in his 


THE IDES OF MARCH. 


77 

heart, now that he had unburdened himself to 
Richard, rather ashamed of his conduct to Richard’s 
sister. He bowed and shook hands, full of eager- 
ness to introduce her and her brother to his father 
and the Saxons. Tom was close at his heels, so this 
introduction was at once accomplished, to the great 
glee of the heir of Hesselburgh, who at once took 
♦ entire possession of the doctor’s sister, and swept 
her off to tennis before the deliberate Major had 
found a pause in which to ask her if her brother were 
there. 

“You know,” said Tom, confidentially, “I have 
been wanting to know you ever since we came 
down. ” 

“ Have you?” said Leo, smiling, as they walked 
side by side over the sunny grass. “And I have 
wanted to know your sister and you ; you both look 
different from the Norchester people.” 

“ That’s odd. Just what we thought about you. 
My mother was coming to call upon you, but now I 
can introduce you to her after this set.” 

Mrs. Hancock and Mrs. Shorthouse exchanged 
glances of terrible meaning, as they watched the 
introduction and its sequel. But the sole comment 
made by the former lady was, 

“ I thought so ! Birds of a feather flock together.” 

“The gentleman who introduced them is a dis- 
tinguished-looking man — a stranger, is he not ? ” said 
Mrs. Shorthouse, eyeing Evelyn’s soldierly figure 
with approval. 

“ One of the house-party. They have a better- 
looking set than usual,” said Mrs. Hancock, conde- 
scendingly, with an eye to Miss Merrion’s slim figure. 

Hope was watching all that went forward with 
interest. Country garden-parties were always an 
amusement to her ; there was a subtle delight in 
proving the force of the nameless power she seemed 
to exert over the other sex, Muriel and she differed 
widely here. Miss Saxon, as became the daughter 
of such a very democratic mother, was decidedly 


THE IDES OF MATCH. 


78 

lefty and exclusive in her ideas. Towards those she 
considered her equals her manners were very simple 
and unassuming; but here, in a “Norchester crowd,” 
she was silent and unbending, and most of the gen- 
tlemen were afraid to approach her. But round Hope 
they clustered like wasps round a honey-pot. One 
brought ices, another lemonade, a third held her 
parasol while she partook of these refreshments 
while the rest formed an audience around, ready to 
obey her lightest behest. 

“ Who is the very beautiful young lady who came 
with you ? ” asked Leo of Tom, “ the one talking to 
all those people over there ? ” 

“ That ? Hope Merrion, the very nicest — I mean, 
one of the very nicest girls in the world.” 

“How much everybody seems to admire her!” 
said Leo, regarding her attentively in a pause of the 
game. “ I don't wonder. She has such a sweet 
little face.” 

‘ ‘ Such a chin, hasn't she ? It's the chin does it, ” 
said Tom, sagely. “There isn’t a man alive who 
could resist that chin. ” 

Evelyn's father was thinking the same thing. He 
was annoyed, almost beyond his powers of conceal- 
ment, by noting that the Major was, with few excep- 
tions, the only young man absent from the charmed 
circle. A set of tennis was formed. One of the ret- 
inue ran off to the house to get Hope’s racquet, and 
then they moved away, down to the tennis-lawn, and 
Mr. Westmorland followed them. 

Again, as he watched her playing, surged up in his 
heart the desire to be young once more ; to make 
that girl love him, to carry her off under the noses of 
a dozen rivals. Oh, why, why would not Evelyn do 
it for him ? 

His satisfied eye rested with delight on her every 
movement, his ear revelled in each cadence of her har- 
monious, young voice. She never flirted, never made 
use of her eyes, never made any effort of -any kind to 
attract. She was quite natural and unaffected, look- 


THE IDES OF MATCH. 


7 $ 

ing frankly, answering clearly, enjoying her game 
with the zest of a school girl. 

“ If I had fallen across such a woman when I was 
young,” he thought to himself, “ it would have 
made a different man of me. Girls have so much 
more in their minds, and consequently in their faces, 
than they used to have. One would never tire of 
such a woman as that. I tired of my wife. She had 
a strong will, but a weak intellect. In spite of her 
fortune I did wrong to marry her, and my punishment 
takes the form of my son S ” 

He looked resentfully round for Evelyn, and met 
his eyes, full. The Major approached, with an air 
of light-heartedness worn to conceal inward anxiety. 
His father was standing on the grass ; the grass was 
damp, a cold was the inevitable result, to him, of 
such imprudence, but nothing infuriated him more 
than the merest hint in this direction. Any word 
which recalled, however distantly, the disabilities of 
advancing years, was gall and wormwood to the 
elderly beau. Evelyn knew this, and all his energies 
were at the moment centred on stratagem. 

‘ ‘ There’s a v scarlet datura in the conservatory, ’tis 
worth seeing,” he suggested, confidentially. 

“ Scarlet datura be hanged ! ” was the acrimonious 
reply ; * ‘ here is something better worth seeing on 
this lawn, as you would know, if you possessed all 
your faculties. Look at the young lady, Miss Hope ! 
There is grace in all her movements, grace that 
springs from a soul within ! What a glance ! what a 
smile ! Look at that mouth ! Is it solely for the pur- 
pose of exasperating me that you decline to speak to 
her ? ” 

“ Come a little further oft, and I will answer; we 
might be overheard, just here,” said the wily Evelyn, 
thinking little of the point of discussion, and greatly 
of his father’s rheumatism. 

“Overheard! when you mumble so that I can 
hardly hear you myself,” was the irritable rejoinder. 
“ No, thanks : I stay here. One does not have the 


80 THE ides of march. 

chance, every day, of looking at beauty like that.” 

“ I’m sorry I can’t agree with you,” said his son, 
sulkily. 

“ Agree with me ! Have you ever agreed with 
me, on any point, ever since you were born?” 
sneered Mr. Westmorland. “No, no! The days 
are gone by, so Mrs. Saxon tells me, when a father 
may hope to transmit a mere fraction of his individu- 
ality to the son who is to reign after him. You and 
I are quite in the fashion. I believe we differ on 
everything. ” 

“ I’m afraid that’s somewhere near true,” said 
Evelyn, hopelessly. “ But let us stroll ; the wind is 
chilly.” 

“ The wind ? I feel no wind ! You are talking 
nonsense ; but do you really mean that you actually 
are incapable of seeing that Miss Merrion is, beyond 
question, a person to be admired ? ” 

“ I don’t like her,” was the dogged answer. “ I 
will go further if you please, and add that I actually 
dislike her. I am indifferent about most people, but 
I dislike Miss Merrion.” 

“ That is as might have been expected,” returned 
his father, smoothly, after a pause ; “ and for no 
reason, I suppose, beyond the all-sufficient one that 
I think otherwise ? ” 

“ I have a reason, and it’s a jolly strong one,” said 
the Major inelegantly ; “ but I expect it would be 
mean to put it about. I shall say nothing, but it is 
sure to come out sooner or later. If you knew, I 
think even your admiration would cool ; but mean- 
time you may understand I would sooner drown my- 
self than ask such a woman to be my wife ; and the 
sooner you make arrangements to get out of this, the 
better I shall be pleased, that’s all. ” 

“ Amazing ! ” was his bewildered father’s rejoinder, 
spoken in soliloquy ; for Evelyn was off, to secure 
Mrs. Saxon’s influence to induce a removal from the 
dangerous grass. 

“As it happens, I am just in want of him, ’’said 


THE IDES OF MARCH. 


Si 


the vigorous lady. “ I am meditating an attack on 
the wife of the canon in residence. Your father will 
be a good bait.” 

Mrs. Shorthouse was still seated on the green bench 
beside Mrs. Hancock, when the two advanced upon 
her. What was about to happen ? Every spine of 
the artificial rye in her bonnet quivered with suspense. 

“ Mrs. Shorthouse, I believe? Will you allow me 
to introduce myself? I am Mrs. Saxon. I have 
been looking for an opportunity to make your ac- 
quaintance, but in the summer I am a bad caller. I 
wonder if you would so far waive the formalities as 
to give us the pleasure of your company at dinner at 
Hesselburgh ? ” 

Excitement made Mrs. Shorthouse positively purple. 
She was obliged to clear her throat before answering, 
and found herself, with a weak smile, murmuring 
something about “ most happy,” regardless of the 
start and snort of the purple-sprigged foulard at her 
side. 

“ I am so anxious to meet Canon Shorthouse,” 
went on Mrs. Saxon, using to its fullest effect the one 
personal charm which she possessed — a melodious 
voice and most refined manner of speaking. “ I hear 
he is an antiquary, so I felt sure he would like to 
meet Mr. Westmorland. Let me introduce Mr. 
Westmorland — a very old friend. He is staying with 
us, and I want to get up a small dinner-party, but 
will not fix the date until I know your engagements. ” 

The enemy was completely disarmed. The invader 
took the vacant seat on the green bench, Mr. West- 
morland contributed a few courtly nothings, a date 
was fixed, and Mrs. Saxon could feel that she had 
done her duty and just saved her unaccountable 
neglect of the Shorthouses from being any longer the 
theme of every tea-party of the cathedral clique. 

“ The etiquette of this place is too much for me,” 
she remarked, with a sigh, as they moved off. “ I 
generally have to get little Mrs. Copeland to help me 
arrange my table. She knows the ins and outs of 


82 


THE IDES OF MARCH. 


things. Once upon a time I got into terrible trouble 
I put Major Dickens above Captain Harris, a naval 
captain. I thought that must be right, but the Harrises 
cut us afterwards, and I discovered that his father was 
a baron ! Dire, was it not ? Mrs. Copeland, I believe, 
knows all the pedigrees. Her husband is Athelstan’s 
agent, so she is a great comfort. Until we came to 
Hesselburgh, I fancied such things belonged to the 
Jane Austen period, but experientia docet / ” 

Tom came dancing up. 

“ I say, mater , haven’t you got an aboriginal dinner 
coming off next week ? Well, invite Miss Forde and 
her brother, just to take the taste out — won’t you ? 
She’s such a stunning little thing, I want to introduce 
her. You know,” — with a laugh to Mr. Westmorland 
— “ the major went to lunch with her on his way up to 
Hesselburgh yesterday. And I’m not surprised, I tell 
you.” 

Mr. Westmorland’s whole face changed, suddenly, 
lighted up, became radiant. 

“Eh? — eh?” he exclaimed, genially. “What’s 
that you say ? Miss Forde ? Pretty, is she ? I crave 
the honour of an introduction ! Where is she ? ” 

“She’s sitting on that seat, over there — that slim 
girl in pink,” said Tom, eagerly. 

Mr. Westmorland’s glasses went up, and he critic- 
ally surveyed the pliant, graceful form of Leo, sunk 
back with a pretty touch of lassitude in a big wicker- 
chair. The glowing, hopeful youth in her was most 
attractive. A different style from Miss Merrion : more 
rudimentary, but in its way quite as attractive. 

“Just the creature to fascinate a morose clod like 
Evelyn,” reflected the fond parent. “I shall cer- 
tainly not complain, if this be his choice.” 

The gloom which had rested on his spirits was all 
gone. He thought he understood his son at last. 
Ah, how much now hung upon his own discretion ! 
He made a heroic resolve. No hint of what he knew 
should cross his lips. He would not interfere — 
would not spoil the sport. Evelyn, for once, should 


THE IDES OF MARCH. 


83 

positively be allowed to do his own wooing. But, 
meanwhile, to speak to this blithe young divinity — 
to ascertain if the sound of her was as satisfactory as 
the sight of her : 

“A nymph — a positive nymph 1 ” he said to Tom. 
“I must be presented at once/' 


CHAPTER X. 

MOLLIE. 

Seigneur, preservez-moi — preservez ceux que j’afme, 
Parents, amis, et mes ennemis meme 
Dans le mal triomphant, 

De jamais voir, seigneur, l’et6 sans fleurs vermeilles, 

La cage sans oiseau, la rflche sans abeilles, ^ 

La maison sans enfants ! 

Victor Hugo. 

“And so, Miss Forde, you keep house for your 
brother, I hear?” said the handsome old man, seat- 
ing himself by Leo. “Poor fellow, how I pity him ! ” 
“You are not very polite,” laughed Leo. 

“Ah ! but you don’t hear me out. You don’t ask 
why he is to be pitied. Now, I’ll tell you : because 
he will be so soon called upon to lose you. Eh ? ” 
She really did not understand him. 

“ I am not going away,” she said. 

“Ah! ah! Don’t be too positive, my child — not 
in this world ! How do you know that somebody 
else’s brother may not want his house kept — eh? 
We all know how weak are the claims of one’s own 
brothers, compared with those of other people. Isn’t 
that so ? ” 

She blushed beautifully. 

“Oh, but I could never leave Dick ! ” 

“Quite so — quite so ! The only way to solve that 
would be to make Dick give you away, would it 


THE IDES OF MARCH. 


84 

not ? And so my boy lunched with you yesterday, I 
hear ? ” 

“You are very like him,” remarked Leo, raising 
her limpid eyes to his face. 

“ Like him, am I? What a poor hand at compli- 
ments — eh ? Dear ! what a pair of us ! And he is a 
friend of Dick’s ? ” 

“Yes, Dick likes him very much,” said Leo, sorely 
tempted to add that she did not at all agree with Dick 
on this point ; but politeness, of course, forbade such 
uncomplimentary frankness, and Mr. Westmorland 
smiled on in happy ignorance of the methods of ren- 
dering himself agreeable employed by Evelyn yester- 
day. 

“And how do you like this housekeeping — eh, Miss 
Forde?” 

“I like it very much. It is great fun. I like living 
with Dick, and Norchester is such a queer place. I 
mean, the people are so queer : there is something to 
make you laugh all day long. Do you see that very 
stout lady in the purple gown all over little bunches 
of flowers? She is the funniest of all. She thinks I 
am a very naughty girl, but I can't help it. She says 
young ladies ought not to do all kinds of things 
which seem very harmless to Dick and me ; but I was 
not made on her pattern. I was cut out differently, 
and, if any one tried to alter me now, I am afraid they 
would only spoil me or pull me out of shape. What 
do you think ? ” 

“That you are a young lady of much penetration. 
Do not let the purple lady metamorphose you in any 
way. Be yourself, and you cannot fail to please.” 

“Why, here comes Dick,” said Leo, frankly, “with 
Major Westmorland ! I did not know that Dick had 
arrived on the scene.” 

Evelyn’s father looked up, and saw his son ap- 
proaching with evident and eager intention of intro- 
ducing him to the sensible-looking, square-shouldered 
young man who accompanied him. Actually there 
was a smile on the Major's usually serious counte- 


THE IDES OE MATCH. 


85 

nance — he looked positively animated. His father 
could scarcely believe his eyes. High beat his heart, 
rosy grew the world's aspect to him. There could be 
but one reason for Evelyn's eagerness to come to 
Hesselburgh, for his excursion to Minstergate yester- 
day, for his sociability to-day ! But one reason : the 
pretty, naive one now seated at his side. How could 
he guess that the medical brother, and not the attrac- 
tive sister, had been the lure? Had such a reason 
been given him, he could not have understood it. In 
his eyes, when young men became in the least 
“keen" about anything, or when any part of their 
conduct seemed in the slightest degree unexplained, 
there was always a woman in the background. One 
strong reason for his disquietude about his heir's non- 
matrimonial tendencies had been the fear of some 
discreditable attachment behind the scenes — some 
entanglement which he was too obstinate to confess. 
So little could he understand even the broad lines of 
the character of his only son. 

But now the answer to the whole conundrum was 
before him ; and such a pleasing answer ! He could 
have embraced Leo ; he felt he loved her. Vague 
ideas of presenting her with jewellery floated through 
his mind, so perfectly competent did he feel himself to 
conduct all the details of this wooing which his son, 
if left to himself, was sure to spoil by some piece of 
incredible folly, backwardness, or bashfulness. 

However, he had made a covenant with himself 
that Evelyn should at least attempt the siege on his 
own account ; and, determined to adhere to this noble 
resolution, he made his smile not too broad as the 
young man said : 

“ Father, I am anxious you should know my friend 
Forde. " 

“Having had the honour of being already pre- 
sented to Miss Forde, it will be readily understood 
that the idea of knowing any of her family gives me 
the greatest pleasure," he said, in his pleasant, half- 
ironical tones. 


86 


THE IDES OF MARCH. 


Leo admired him intensely, and thought his man- 
ners like those of Sir Walter Elliot in “Persuasion,” 
with a dash of the benevolence of Mr. Woodhouse in 
“Emma.” 

A few words passed, explanatory of the former 
acquaintance of the young men, and then the doctor 
deliberately took his seat at Mr. Westmorland’s 
side and asked him if he were interested in the report 
of the medical congress published in that mornings 
Times. 

Mr. Westmorland was a great newspaper reader, 
and ready to discuss any current topic of the day. 
They fell into conversation in the most promising 
way, and Evelyn, exulting in his own diplomacy, 
was just wondering how to make himself scarce 
when his eye fell on Leo. The brilliant thought of 
asking her to play tennis struck him ; he owed her 
some reparation for his rudeness of yesterday, and it 
would leave the coast clear for Dick. 

The young lady accepted somewhat haughtily, re- 
cent slights being fresh in her mind. Mr. Westmor- 
land had much ado to conceal his surprise and delight 
on seeing them walk off together. 

“Charming young creature! charming! Your 
sister, sir,” he could not refrain from saying. “ Young 
ladies are so charming nowadays, a higher form of 
organism altogether, than they used to be. Every 
feeling alive, every faculty trained. Educated, body 
and mind, literature, and the gymnasium ! It makes 
their charms more subtle, and more potent.” 

“Yes,” said Dick, “I think it does. Seriously, I 
believe that an English girl of to-day has the chance 
of being about as complete a being as has been yet 
known, if she understands how to use her opportuni- 
ties.” 

His eyes were on Muriel Saxon, who was seated 
near, talking languidly to an uninteresting minor 
canon whose one topic was church music. 

“I think,” he went on, “that, in our days, fine 
health adds to a girls beauty. It is the gymnasium, 


THE IDES OF MARCH. 


87 

as you say, sir. The time has gone by, when a faded 
aspect and a tottering step were the great attractions. 
Look at Miss Saxon now, a case in point. Feminine 
and graceful ! But you should have seen her playing 
in the tennis-tournament ! accurate eye, steady wrist ! 
It’s a beautiful combination ! ” 

Mr. Westmorland assented with a sigh. 

“It’s a daily wonder to me,” he said, “ how any 
of you young men keep single, in face of such temp- 
tation.” 

The young doctor replied, with his eyes still on 
Miss Saxon. 

“Young ladies are more particular, nowadays, 
you know.” 

“Ah !” agreed his companion, with a sudden ac- 
cess of apprehension. 

That was very likely so, and it frightened him, for 
he was totally unatTeTto see in what possible way 
his son could render himself attractive to a girl of the 
type under discussion. He looked across the gar- 
dens. Evelyn and Leo were playing together. The 
now sinking sun threw their shadows long on the 
golden grass behind them. The ball rose dark into 
the clear atmosphere, hovered against a background 
of amber sky, and fell. Leo tried, missed it, stooped 
and cried “Take it ! ” to Evelyn, who, playing deli- 
cately over her head, “ placed” the ball too success- 
fully for his adversary, and Miss Forde triumphantly 
announced : 

“ Our game ! ” 

“ One love, love one ! ” remarked Evelyn, tossing, 
the balls into the other courts. 

“The language of tennis sounds somewhat sugges- 
tive to an outsider, ” smiled his father. 

Dick laughed. 

“That subject has been worn threadbare, I am 
afraid,” he said ; and leaned back, looking at Muriel 
and feeling the calm of the summer evening in his 
soul. 

“The Major is a fine soldier,” he remarked, pres- 


88 


THE IDES OF MARCH. 


ently, letting his gaze travel to Evelyn’s stalwart 
figure. 

‘ ‘ Ay, a good soldier, but a bad lover, ” said Mr. 
Westmorland, though with more approval in his 
tones than was usual with him when speaking of his 
thorn in the flesh. ‘ ‘ Why doesn’t he marry now ? ” 

Dick saw his chance. 

“I suppose with such a fine estate, his marriage is 
a matter of some importance,” he said with a pro- 
fessional eye upon his patient. 

“Eh? ’’said Mr. Westmorland, dreamily, shading 
his eyes from the dazzle. ‘ ‘ Oh, he must take his 
time, you know, he must take his time about that. 
He’ll come to it sooner or later. They all come to it. 
No use to be in a hurry.” 

This was most amazing. For a minute Dick was 
stupefied. Westmorland had said to him, 

“You have only to touch the sore point ever so 
distantly, and you will see the cloven hoof.” 

He could not understand it. Of the combined 
effects of Mrs. Saxon’s advice that afternoon, and 
Leo’s appearance on the scene, he could of course 
know nothing. The result was extremely perplex- 
ing. It almost seemed, as if it were, after all, the 
son, and not the father, who laboured under a men- 
tal disorder. 

“What was Westmorland thinking about?” he 
wondered, perplexedly, “what a queer fellow he is !” 

And then his thoughts wandered gradually away 
from the old man at his side, back to Muriel Saxon ; 
and there eyes, brain, and heart rested, long and 
steadily, till the longing grew too great to be further 
repressed, and, turning to Mr. Westmorland, he 
asked in a straightforward, manly way, 

“Would you introduce me to Miss Saxon? I 
should esteem it a great favour.” 

“Certainly — oh, certainly!” No civility could be 
reckoned too great to show to Leo’s brother. They 
rose, and walked together over the sunny lawn. 
Muriel saw them coming, and advanced to meet 


THE IDES OF MARCH. 89 

them. She was but too glad to escape from the 
minor canon, and favoured Richard with a slow, 
sweet smile, not the conventional one which she 
reserved for the Norchester natives. 

A few commonplaces passed between the trio : at 
least, to Mr. Westmorland they were commonplaces. 
Forde, however, was standing at Heaven’s gate, and 
the monotonous cadence of Miss Saxon’s flute-like 
voice was to him the harmony of angels; for the 
young doctor was in love, for the first time, and had 
taken the complaint severely. Muriel, studying him, 
thought that he seemed handsomer than her previous 
casual sights of him had led her to suppose. She 
was wrong. The fact was that he really had grown 
handsomer than formerly : a new light beamed in 
his steady eyes, and a softness relaxed the sensible 
lines of his mouth. This garden was the garden of 
Eden, and life took on new hues of beauty and 
variety. 

Suddenly Muriel broke into a small remark of Mr. 
Westmorland’s with a slight exclamation of pleasure, 
her face kindled up, and Richard turned to follow the 
direction of her eyes. He saw Mrs. Saxon advancing 
towards them, a broad smile of pleasure on her large 
features, and beside her a little, shrivelled-looking 
elderly gentleman in a grey felt wide-awake and 
spectacles, and carrying a large white umbrella, lined 
with green. 

“Cousin Mollie 1 ” said Muriel, a great deal of de- 
light infused into her soft tones; and, if ever the 
doctor envied anybody in his life, it was the quaint 
little gentleman in blue spectacles, as Miss Saxon 
took his brown paw in both her hands, and said, 
with as much emphasis as her nature admitted of, 

“I’m simply delighted to see you, dear ! ” 

The gentleman so addressed seemed fully as happy 
as she in the meeting. He smiled and nodded, and 
let her hold his hand, and presently said, in a funny 
little cracked voice, 

“ Yes, I came over, came over to-day. Thought 


THE IDES OF MARCH. 


9 0 

it was time I saw something of you all ! Thomas 
saw me first ! He grows a fine boy, doesn’t he ? 
Clapped me on the back till he made me cough, 
Murie! Plenty of muscle, eh? Plenty! He’ll turn 
Learning out of windows, when he’s master there, 
eh ? ” and the genial little man laughed till the tears 
came, and brought out a large crimson handkerchief 
which he applied to his forehead. 

Meanwhile the said Thomas was ravaging the 
gardens like a whirlwind in search of Hope ; he found 
her in one of the palm-houses, making havoc of the 
heart of a susceptible deacon from a neighbouring 
church, who glared savagely at the intruder. 

Naught cared Tom ; he unceremoniously caught 
Miss Merrion’s hand, snatched up her parasol, and 
panted out, in short, quick gasps, 

“Come on . . . quick ! . . . Cousin . . . Mollie’s 
. . . turned up ! . . . Come on, I tell you ! ” 

She uttered a little cry of gladness. 

“Oh, Tom, how nice! You didn’t expect him, 
did you? Excuse me, please,” to the offended cleric, 

‘ * I must run away at once ! ” and, so saying, they 
were off. 

Cousin Mollie, otherwise the Honourable Molyneux 
Lyster, was the embodiment, to the young Saxons, 
of everything that was delightful, and undisciplined, 
and ideal. He lived all alone, in the very heart of 
the moors, on a small estate which had been left him 
by a distant relation. He was a junior member of a 
titled family, and years ago had buried every hope 
in the grave of his young wife. Just one year of 
married happiness had been his, and then he laid her 
to rest, with their tiny son on her breast, in the lonely 
churchyard of Leaming-le-Moor. The unexpected 
legacy of the manor had enabled him to marry this, 
his first and only love ; when she died, all his youth, 
his aspirations, his very life seemed crushed out of 
him. He lived on, his lonely days, in his isolated 
home, caring for nobody, interested in nothing save 
his weekly visit to the churchyard where his heart 


THE IDES OF MATCH, 


91 

and treasure lay together, and his Sunday church- 
going, when he could look at the marble monument 
he had caused to be erected to their memory. 

He had existed in this morbid way for about ten 
years when his second cousin, Athelstan Saxon, 
married, and brought his bride, in the course of 
honeymoon wanderings, to stop a night in the moor- 
land manor. 

Mrs. Saxon was at once touched with deepest pity 
of the forlorn condition of the widower ; but her 
vigorous, and perhaps too straightforward hand, was 
powerless to break the crust of chillness and apathy 
which hid the genial heart. She could not forget 
him, how T ever, and never let a year go by without 
making a fruitless effort to coax him out of his soli- 
tude. 

At last she hit, almost by accident, on the spring 
which unlocked his heart. After four years, and 
when Muriel was nearly three years old, Master Tom 
appeared on the scenes. She wrote and asked Mr. 
Lyster to be godfather. 

To her great astonishment, he consented ; nay, 
still more wondrous, he came to Hesselburgh for 
the baptism. He brought silver gifts of the most 
sumptuous description for Thomas Molyneux Lyster 
Saxon. He was enchanted with the little brown 
baby, and held it on his knees, seemingly spellbound 
as it unconsciously clasped his finger in its velvety 
touch ; he was almost equally delighted with the 
little golden-haired Muriel, who came and nestled 
against his knee, half-jealous of the consequence and 
state of the new baby brother. 

The prematurely old and bowed figure of the re- 
cluse, was to be seen moving round the garden with 
the bonny girl in his arms, who plucked flowers, and 
tried with gravity and much labour to fasten them in 
his coat. He seemed lost in a dream of bliss when 
she cuddled his neck — so long unused to the divine 
touches of love — with her fat white arms. 

Mrs. Saxon went out to him after a while, and 


THE IDES OF MARCH 


9 2 

courteously begged that he would not tease himself 
too much with the child. He tightened his clasp 
about her, and bright drops swam in his eyes, as he 
said, wistfully, 

“ Don’t take her from me ; she’s — she’s quite 
happy, I believe ; she don’t want to leave Mollie, do 
you, little woman ? ” 

“ Don’t want to leave Mollie,” echoed the little 
one, jovially ; whereupon he timidly kissed her, and 
she returned his kisses with interest. He looked so 
exceedingly funny, decked out to Muriel’s taste, with 
dandelions waving in his hat, and a daisy-chain 
about his neck ; altogether so Ophelia like in appear- 
ance that Mrs. Saxon felt inclined to laugh and cry 
both at once. 

She did cry in earnest before the day was out 
After dinner, and only one cigar, the confirmed 
smoker begged permission to go and see the children 
in bed. Mr. Saxon took him there, unknown to his 
wife, who, proceeding to the nursery half-an-hour 
later, found her visitor seated by Tom’s cradle, em- 
bracing the head of it, and gazing rapt at the sleeping 
baby. He looked up, as she entered, with a quiver- 
ing, appealing smile. 

“I’m not disturbing him,” he said, pleadingly. 
“He’s sound asleep. You see, it makes me think so 
of my own little chap — how he might have looked in 
his sleep. He is so warm, this little fellow — alive 
and warm ; I never kissed mine till he was cold ; ” 
and then two great tears from the desolate father's 
eyes fell audibly on little Tom’s blue-silk quilt. “I 
feel as if I couldn’t bear to leave him,” he said, sob- 
bingly. 

The usually unemotional woman knelt down and 
kissed the worn, quivering face. 

“The boy is partly yours,” she said, weeping; 
“you shall always see as much of him as ever you 
please. Our home is open to you whenever you care 
to come, and your room shall always be ready. ” 

So it had been ever since. The next year both 


THE IDES OF MARCH 


93 

children went, with their nurses, to stay at Learning 
while their parents were abroad ; and after this, a 
visit from them, once a year, became a settled thing. 
The old grey, solitary house echoed children’s shouts 
and children’s laughter, as years ago the young hus- 
band and wife had, with tender smiles and beating 
hearts, hoped that it would. One of Muriel’s earliest 
recollections was of being held up in Cousin Mollies 
arms to kiss the marble lips of the monumental 
mother, who, with her baby in her arms, was step- 
ping barefoot into the waves of a marble ocean. 

What cared these two healthy and jocund young 
persons for sad memories or sacred associations? 
They romped and quarrelled, played and enjoyed 
themselves more blithely in the old house on the 
moors than anywhere else in the world. 

Hope had often heard of this beloved Cousin Mollie, 
but had never beheld him. Thus it was that his 
sudden arrival on the scene was to her quite as excit- 
ing as it was to Tom, and she ran over the smooth 
lawns in undignified haste that was most shocking to 
Mrs. Hancock. 


CHAPTER XI. 

I WANT TO TAKE YOU ALL BACK WITH ME. 

And to the lone recluse, whate’er 
They brought — each visiting, 

Was like the crowding of the year 
With a new burst of spring. 

Wordsworth. 

“ Ah, here he comes ! Where was he off too ? ” said 
Mr. Lyster, in tones of great satisfaction, as Tom and 
Hope came up. 

“I went to fetch Miss Merrion, you know; I’ve 
told you about her in letters,” said Tom, panting. 
“I want to introduce you,” 


94 


THE IDES OF MATCH. 


Perhaps Hope was a little disappointed in Cousin 
Mollie’s outward man. She knew his romance, of 
course, but it was hard to connect romance with the 
little smiling, heated, ill-dressed gentleman before 
her. In his best days he could never have been 
handsome ; and Hope as yet knew nothing of that 
love which absolutely creates beauty in the beloved 
object. There was, however, no resisting the shy 
cordiality of his manner ; and, before she had been 
five minutes talking to him, she quite understood the 
devotion of the two young Saxons. 

Very soon a move was made — the party must be 
making their farewells. 

Richard, who had been quite crowded out by the 
sudden arrival of this popular person, was preparing 
to step back and retire when Mrs. Saxon stopped him 
and to his untold delight, asked him to bring his 
sister to dinner on the following Wednesday. He 
accepted the invitation with a great fear lest his 
manner of doing so had been too marked — too em- 
phatic. Here was an unexpected pleasure — some- 
thing to look forward to ! The dazzle of the sinking 
sun turned all the world to glory. 

Leo and Major Westmorland came across the grass 
together from their tennis : Evelyn was looking quite 
animated and Leo’s cheeks were like carnations. 

“ We won, Dick,” cried she, delightedly, “ we 
won ! ” 

“A very good set,” said the Major ; “ your sister 
plays capitally, Forde.” 

“She does indeed! Mr. Forde and I had the 
pleasure of watching her,” said Mr. Westmorland, 
hardly able to contain himself for delight. 

“ I do so like tennis,” said Leo, with all her heart, 
smiling up at her late partner, with whom she was 
now quite on friendly terms. 

“ If you could manage to send up an evening dress 
you had better come in time for some tennis on 
Wednesday,” said Mrs. Saxon. 

The girl looked puzzled, 


THE IDES OF MARCH 


95 

4 4 Mrs. Saxon has asked me to bring you to dine at 
Hesselburgh,” explained her brother. 

“ Has she?” cried Leo. “Oh, how awfully kind 
of her ! ” 

Then, as the smile grew broader on all the faces 
round, she added, with a charming colour. 

“ I ought not to have said ‘ awfully/ ought I ? ” 

“My dear,” said Mr. Westmorland, indulgently, 
“some people may say anything they please.” 

“You will turn my little girl’s head, sir,” smiled 
Dick. 

“I should like to turn it,” was the gallant response, 
“so that it would look always in my direction.” 

So saying, with a courtly bow, he took leave, 
and followed the rest of the party. 

“ You have enjoyed your afternoon, father,” said 
Evelyn, giving him his arm. 

“I have enjoyed myself, Evelyn, very much, 
considerably more than I expected. Don’t know 
when I have had such a pleasant afternoon.” 

There was no tete-h-tete between him and Mrs. 
Saxon on the way home, for the three young people 
turned their father out of the cart in order to have 
Mollie amongst them. 

Perhaps it was as well ; for, in Mr. Westmorland’s 
present elated state of mind, he must have spoken of 
Leo, and he did not wish to do so, not till he had 
made assurance doubly sure. 

Meanwhile the cart was bowling swiftly along, 
Cousin Mollie driving with Muriel at his side, Hope 
and Tom behind. 

“I suppose you know,” he said, when all the 
horses and dogs at Learning had been duly inquired 
for, and the health of Mrs. Abbott, the housekeeper, 
ascertained to be excellent. “I suppose you know 
what I came here for.” 

“ Oh, of course ; to see me,” said Muriel. 

“That, naturally, my darling, but not that only. 
I want to take you all back with me.” 

“ Hooray ! ” shouted Tom, causing the nervous 


9 6 the ides of march 

mare to break into a gallop, and nearly shooting out 
Hope behind. 

“ Tom, you dreadful boy ! You nearly killed me ! ” 
she cried. 

“Well, you couldn’t fall out, if you would allow 
me to put my arm round your waist as I am always 
offering to do.” 

“ Tom, don’t be vulgar. Does Mr. Lyster mean to 
invite me too, to Learning ? ” 

‘ ‘ Of course he does ; don’t you, Mollie ? ” 

“ Most certainly, if Miss Hope cares to come ; well, 
do you think it can be managed ? ” 

“No,” said Muriel, mournfully, “I don’t think the 
mater will let us come, not to leave Major Westmor- 
land.” 

“ Oh, rubbish, Muriel ! ” cried Tom. “He doesn't 
count as a young one ; he never comes near us, or 
joins in any way, he won’t even drive in the cart.” 

“ Dear me, what an incomprehensible young man ! ” 
said Cousin Mollie. 

“Well, I know mater won’t let us all go away and 
leave him,” maintained Muriel. “Besides,” she 
added, in melancholy tones, “there is this horrid 
Woman’s Sanitary League, we must be home for that.” 

“ He’ll spoil all the fun ! a great wet blanket ! ” 
said Tom, angrily ; “ and, as to that Sanitary League, 
it’s a blooming nuisance. ” 

Poor Hope felt, like Jonah, inclined to entreat them 
to leave her out of the plan, and then the Major would 
join himself once more to their revels ; yet pride for- 
bade. Why should she exclude herself from such 
simple, delightful pleasure, just because he chose to 
sulk? What did she care for his black looks and 
chilling silence ? 

“Tom,” said she, “let us put up with Major West- • 
morland’s vagaries rather than lose the chance of a 
visit to Learning.” 

“Bless me,” said Mollie, “he’ll be all right! 
Bound to be sociable when he finds himself shut up 
with you three young people. What do you say— 


THE IDES OF MARCH. 


97 

hey ? Let’s carry him off to our fastness on the 
moorland, and convert him by force into a good 
comrade ; shall we ? ” 

‘ ‘ A very good idea ! ” laughed Hope, softly. 

“I believe you want him to come,” said Tom, 
sulkily. “I'm not going if you mean to leave me 
out in the cold.” 

“My dear good boy,” she said, mischievously, “ I 
hardly think the Major shows much desire to com- 
pete for my society. You ought to bless him for his 
surliness. If he were charming, you know, I might 
— it is just barely possible that I might — prefer him to 
you. ” 

“ Oh, false one ! You'd better ! ” was the young 
man’s fierce threat. “ Yes, Moll, old boy, have West- 
morland ; he’ll just suit.” 

“ Perhaps he won’t come,” suggested Muriel. 

“ I should think it’s very likely,” said Hope. 

“Then mater won’t let us come; so do be very 
civil to him, all of you, so as to make him think we 
want him, ” urged Muriel. ‘ ‘ I think, you know, that 
perhaps we three do clique too much, and make jokes 
that he doesn’t understand. It’s all right with Mollie, 
because he understands us — don’t you, dear? But 
the Major doesn’t, and I think we ought to be careful. ” 

It was so seldom that Miss Saxon delivered so 
lengthy an opinion that her audience were somewhat 
impressed, though of course too proud to show it ; 
and a short silence ensued before Cousin Mollie re- 
marked, 

“The Wetherells have been in trouble since last 
winter, you will be sorry to hear, Murie.” 

“Who are the Wetherells? ” asked Hope, in a low 
voice, of Tom. 

“Vicar and vicaress of Leaming-le-Moor, ” he re- 
plied. “Queer old pair. Sorry they’ve been up a 
tree, Mollie. What was it ? ” 

“ You remember their niece ? ” 

Muriel laughed in an amused way. 

“I should think so ! We heard of her often, but 
7 


THE IDES OF MARCH. 


98 

never saw her. We always called her Jane Fairfax,” 
she explained to Hope. ‘ ‘ Do you remember how, 
whenever Emma Woodhouse called on the Bates’ they 
always read Jane Fairfax’s last letter out loud to her? 
Well, the Wetherells always did that. This beloved 
niece of theirs was governess in some wealthy family 
who were always travelling abroad. ” 

“ The poor old dears thought that Nellie’s account 
of her travels ought to be published,” laughed Tom. 
“She wrote most awful long-winded stories of all 
that she had done and seen. She is a good sort of 
girl, I should think, but a most fearful bore. ” 

“She is dead, Tom,” said Cousin Mollie, sadly. 
“Dead ! ” The boy’s gaiety was sobered at once. 
“Oh! I am so sorry,” he said, honestly. “How 
fearfully rough on those poor old souls. ” 

“She was a good girl, and a brave girl,” said their 
cousin, ‘ ‘ dutiful and affectionate ; and she was all 
they had to care for. I scarcely thought that Mrs. 
Wetherell would survive it. It was a pitiful thing. 
Just after you two left me in January, they had a 

letter saying that the Fothergills were in England -” 

Hope turned with a queer start, and bent her startled 
eyes on the narrator. 

“The Fothergills were the people she travelled 
with,” said Tom, thinking she required an explana- 
tion. 

“Just so,” went on Mr. Lyster; “well, they were 
in England, and thought Nellie so poorly that they 
were sending her to her uncle and aunt for a long 
stay till she was quite recovered. When she came, 
about the middle of February, I was horrified at her 
wan looks. She seemed so strangely altered, changed, 
and broken down. She had a cough, too, that sounded 

ominous. I sent for Rider, from Liverpool ” 

“Just like you,” murmured Muriel. 

“My dearie, one did all one could. He seemed 
puzzled — said there was so little vitality. There were 
the seeds of a decline, but no more than a healthy 
girl, in a pure mountain air, ought to throw off, with 


THE IDES OF MARCH. 


99 

care ; but there seemed no elasticity — no effort. I 
told him to come again in a month. Meanwhile, I 
sent her champagne, and such-like rubbish, and got 
her a horse, thinking that riding might be beneficial. 
But she seemed to have no energy for anything — 
riding, especially, seemed only to distress and exhaust 
her. The weather was bad, and gradually she kept 
the house more. When Rider next came, he was 
petrified — said he had never in his life seen the disease 
make such ravages in so short a time. Unless some- 
thing gave her a fresh start, he said, nothing could 
save her. I suggested taking her away south, and he 
thought it a good idea ; but nothing would persuade 
her to go. She said she felt happier there, and we 
thought it best to humour her; but she just faded out 
of life quietly, and died on the ist of May. It was 
very terrible to see her dying daily. She grew so 
weak that the slightest noise startled her like a can- 
non-shot. I have seen her spring up, and grow red 
and pale because the postman passed the window.” 

“Poor Mr. and Mrs. Wetherell ! ” said Muriel, com- 
passionately. 

Hope looked away, over the cornfields, that the 
occupants of the cart might not see that her eyes were 
brimming with tears. Her sympathies, it seemed, 
were easily stirred. 

The story subdued all their spirits, and only quiet 
remarks concerning the dead girl and her loss were 
heard, until, in the early twilight, they drove into the 
stable-yard. The men came round in great pleasure, 
grinning to see Mr. Lyster, who had a genial little 
speech for all of them. 

Just as they were alighted, the Major, who had 
lingered for a little talk with Dick Forde, rode into 
the yard. His spirits were good, for his father’s speech 
concerning his matrimonial arrangements had been 
repeated to him, and he was rejoicing over the happy 
change. He remained chatting in the dusk, after he 
had dismounted, watching Hope, who had pulled 
down some of the broad chestnut-leaf fans which hung 


100 


THE IDES OF MARCH. 


over the red wall, and was decking Maidenhair’s head 
with them. Tom, behind her, was tickling her neck 
with a straw, to try to make her laugh, and asking 
why she was in the dumps. 

“I am thinking about that girl — that Nellie, who 
died, out on the moors,” she said. “It has made me 
suddenly feel how terribly sad life is, Tom dear. And 
this is the time of day to feel sad, too. The sun is 
gone, the wind is hushed, everything is grey, sober, 
and dim. There is something depressing in the very 
ring of the men’s feet on the stones, in the clink of 
Jane’s pans in the* dairy and the lowing of the cows, 
as if they were afraid of the dark. The colour has 
gone out of the sky and the trees ; and it was so bright 
an hour ago. Our very voices echo sadly, and our 
faces look white. I know that soon the dressing-bell 
will ring, and we shall go indoors, and all the lamps 
will be lit, and the curtains drawn, and there will be 
clatter of plates and glass and silver, and comforting 
suggestions of dinner, and I shall laugh at myself ; 
but now it is Borderland — neither to-day nor this even- 
ing, and I feel dreary, Tom — dreary.” 

‘ ‘ Oh, my duckie, don’t talk like that, or I shall 
want to hug you ! ” cried Tom, sympathetically, 
drawing her arm through his, “Come along in — you 
are chilly.” 

“Yes; but, Tom,” she said, hanging back, as if 
loth to join the trio in the gateway, “wasn’t it a sad 
story? I half wish I had not heard it. Fancy dying 
like that, all alone, in that desolate place, just be- 
cause you had nothing to live for : when you need 
not have died, only that death seemed easier than 
life. Oh, Tom dear, isn’t that dreadful? I don’t 
know what it can be like not to care to live.” 

“ Do you suppose she was not happy ? ” asked the 
boy in an awe-struck way. 

“ Happy ? Would a happy woman let her life slip 
through her fingers like that ? Why, Tom, do you 
know, the craving for life, the mere animal instinct 
of self-preservation, is the very last thing one parts 


THE IDES OF MARCH. ioi 

from ! Think what she must have suffered before she 
gave it up ! ” 

“ Poor girl, ” he said, touched and softened by his 
sunny Hope’s unwonted earnestness. 

“ I feel,” said she, with a little shiver, as she moved 
onwards, “ I feel as if I want to go and see that girl’s 
grave. ” 


CHAPTER XII. 

LEO GOES INTO HIGH SOCIETY. 

And that same voice, my soul hears, as a bird 
The fowler’s note, and follows to the snare ! 

Robert Browning. 

Cousin Mollie did not carry his point without a 
struggle. Mrs. Saxon was not quite willing to have 
all the life swept out of the house just at this time. 
The neighbourhood was bristling with tennis-parties 
and picnics, and it seemed a pity for the young folks 
to miss all these. She scarcely knew what made 
them so wild to go. 

“For, after all,” as she said to her husband, “it is 
dull there, you know. The shooting is good, no 
doubt, but they get as much as they want here, and 
I am sure even Molyneux can scarcely allow them 
more liberty than we do. When they were children, 
it was easily understood ; the wall-fruit, the bee-hives, 
the dining late, the general petting. But, now they 
are grown up, I should imagine the society round 
here had more charms ; yet Tom seems perfectly 
ready to abandon even Miss Forde for the sake of a 
week at Learning. One never gets to the bottom, 
even of one’s own children.” 

“ It is old association, I expect,” said little Mr. Sax- 
on, benignly. “ Going to stay with Molyneux has 
always been the greatest treat in their catalogue, and 


tot 


THE IDES OP MATCH. 


force of habit makes it so still. It seems a harmless 
taste, my dear, and I think we may safely encourage 
it.” 

“I believe you are right, Athelstan, you so often 
are ; what should I do without you? ” which praise 
the modest little man at once disclaimed, in his usual 
formula. 

“What sense I have I owe to my wife.” 

“At any rate, they cannot go till after the dinner- 
party on Wednesday, and Molyneux must stay for 
that, and they must be back in time for the hygienic 
meeting,” was the ladys ultimatum. 

Mollie had no objection. So completely had that 
ruling spirit, Thomas, dominated his nature, that the 
shy, sensitive man, who, eighteen years ago, winced 
at a strange glance, and walked in bye-lanes to avoid 
the chance passer-by on the forlorn moorland high- 
road, now contemplated with calmness that unut- 
terable event, a cathedral dinner-party. 

The first few days of his stay at Hesselburgh were 
gloriously fine and hot, so much so, that everybody 
was out of doors all day, and Evelyn and Hope had 
no difficulty in ignoring one another completely, 
without attracting any attention. 

In fact, all the gentlemen were shooting the whole 
of Friday and Saturday, and after dinner, there was 
coffee in the garden, all t.he sportsmen too tired for 
much beyond languid and blissful enjoyment of their 
smoke, and an early retirement to prepare them for 
to-morrow’s tramp. 

On Sunday, the whole party bore down on the 
Minster in great state, and Leo’s delight was consider- 
able at being bowed to, and shaken hands with after 
service in face of Mrs. Hancock and all her follow- 
ing. 

Tom asked Richard Forde to shoot with them the 
following day, and, as he thought he might feel him- 
self justified in taking the afternoon, Muriel suggested 
that he should bring Leo to Hesselburgh after lunch 
and leave her to their care. Mrs. Saxon completed 


THE IDES OF MATCH. 


103 

the feasibility of the plan, by volunteering to send the 
carriage to fetch the brother and sister, and, when 
all was settled, it was hard to tell whose sensations 
of pleasure were keener — Leo’s or Mr. Westmorland’s. 

That evening, however, the weather changed, be- 
coming chilly and threatening. Monday morning 
brought a grey drizzle, and Tom and Evelyn, after 
being out all the morning, and getting wet through, 
came home to lunch, quite determined not to repeat 
the experiment that day. The drizzle now changed 
to a downpour, and chances of further sport were 
rendered entirely out of the question. 

“Never mind, darling,” said Tom to Hope, “ we’ll 
enjoy ourselves in spite of the weather. We’ll have 
a kitchen tea-party. Mollie loves them, and cookie 
shall give us grouse stewed in mushrooms. I am 
sure Miss Forde will like that.” 

“Tom!” said Muriel, “you cannot possibly ask 
Dr. Forde to a kitchen tea-party the very first time he 
comes to the house.” 

“Then you shall give five o’clock tea in your 
sitting-room, tete-h-tete_ while Mollie and Hope, and 
Miss Leo, and I, enjoy ourselves below.” 

“I believe Dr. Forde will quite appreciate our 
rustic simplicity.” said Hope, reflectively. “ He has 
an interesting face — a face with many capabilties 
in it.” 

“Oh, has he, miss? Then he shan’t come,” 
snapped Tom. 

‘ ‘ Tom, I think you are unreasonable ; I might 
quite as fairly object to the presence of his fascinat- 
ing sister: you are forgetting our compact.” 

“What is the compact ? y ’ asked Mr. Lyster, with 
interest. 

“Why, Mollie, I told you all about it,” said Tom, 
with that perfect seriousness of manner which always 
annoyed and baffled Mr. Westmorland. “I told you 
that Hope has promised to marry me in ten years 
from now, provided neither of us has, in that time, 
discovered any one we like better. ” 


104 


THE IDES OF MARCH. 


“ Perfect liberty on both sides to marry any one 
else in the meantime/’ corrected Hope, likewise with 
complete gravity. 

“An excellent plan,” saidMollie, with an immediate 
adoption of their tone and manner. “ I hope you 
will ask me to the wedding.” 

“It must be a very quiet one, with such an aged 
bride,” said Hope, mournfully. “ I shall be thirty- 
three ; I could not wear white. Tom will be twenty- 
seven. ” 

“I shall have to give Tom away, you see,” said 
Mollie. 

“It might be nice if he wore white, as he will still 
be young and blooming,” suggested Hope. “You 
would look very striking in orange-blossoms, Tom 
dear.” 

“ I’m afraid they would hardly stick on ; what do 
you think, Mollie?” asked Tom who, lying on his 
back on the sofa, was supporting his sealskin-like 
head on his godfather’s knee. 

‘ ‘ Perhaps they will be out of fashion by then, ” was 
Mollie’s best attempt at consolation, after stroking 
the glossy black poll. 

“We think of Gravesend for a wedding excursion,” 
went on Hope. 

“ Han well’s a pretty place, have you ever thought 
of settling there ? ” innocently asked Mollie. 

“Upon my word, Tom, I hardly think we could do 
better 1” cried Hope, her self-command giving way 
at last, and breaking into a pretty wave of laughter, 
in which Mollie delightedly joined. 

“Oh, Mr. Lyster,” she said, her sweet eyes turned 
pleadingly up to him, “are you not ashamed of me 
for encouraging him to be so painfully foolish ? ” 

“I do it myself, my dear, I do it myself,” was his 
fond answer, as he pulled Thomas’s ear. 

One person in the room evidently did not take such 
a lenient view of Hope’s conduct. 

Major Westmortand had been standing in the 
window, square-shouldered and glum, gazing out at 


THE IDES OF MARCH 


105 

the pouring rain. Even in his back the girl could 
read how he despised her and her levity. As she put 
her last question he turned round and looked at her, 
a glance of such biting contempt that it stung her 
like a blow. She could not endure it passively ; her 
patience was exhausted. Hitherto the attack had 
been all on his side : he had declared war, he had 
avoided her, he had slighted her by absolutely re- 
fusing even to go in to dinner with her, she had not 
resisted in any way. Now she was determined to 
protest, to show him that she was entirely defiant 
of him, and not in the least ashamed of herself. She 
looked up innocently in his face, in answer to his 
look. 

“Yes?” she said. “I think you were going to 
say something ? ” 

The unready Major was entirely disconcerted ; he 
hesitated, looked daggers, stammered out, “Noth- 
ing ! ” and hastily made his exit. 

“What an addition he will be to our party at 
Learning, ” she said sweetly, as the door closed upon 
him. “So chatty!” 

An unkind peal of laughter from the others followed 
this remark. Evelyn heard the laugh, though not 
the speech which evoked it. They were laughing at 
him, he thought. That heartless, shameless flirt, 
who could not even spare a boy like Tom, but must 
drag him captive at her chariot-wheel — who could 
bewitch and befool an elderly widower like Lyster 
till he was unable to judge her impartially — she was 
making game of him, Evelyn. Well, it was some- 
thing to be thankful for that Disney had escaped her 
—he would write, and put that view of the case be- 
fore his friend. How could such a woman have such 
an exterior, such a modest, girlish, virginal air ; such 
a sweet face and such a voice — a voice that fell on 
the ear like splashes of bright water on a thirsty soil. 
She seemed, to the young man’s angry fancy all up 
in arms for his friend, like a special concoction of the 
devil to ensnare young men. He felt as if he could 


10 6 THE ides of march. 

believe in the temptations of St. Anthony ; in the 
appearance of beautiful fiends. 

For was it not true that, were the room never so 
full of people, if Hope spoke, howsoever gently, he 
heard every word ? It seemed to him as if he could 
see her with his eyes shut. He had dreamed of her 
three nights following — he, whose sound and pro- 
found slumber was rarely visited by any dreams at 
all. 

And now they were suggesting that he should go 
and mew himself up for a week with her in a shoot- 
ing-box on the moors ! Not he! He had told his 
father that he did not at all care to go, and, to his 
unfeigned astonishment, Mr. Westmorland had seemed 
very sympathetic on the subject. Certainly, the 
Hesselburgh air was working wonders for him. 
Evelyn had never known him so amiable, so pleasant, 
so little inclined for his favourite pastime of gibing 
at and taunting his only son. If it had not been for 
the presence of this Miss Merrion he would be feeling 
happier than he had done for some time. She spoilt 
everything, stirred up all his worst feelings, paralyzed 
his tongue, and the most grievous part of it all was 
that hateful fact that, though his mind and soul re- 
volted, his senses yet felt the subtle charm which 
emanated from her. It was what he could not bear 
to think of, yet his severely truthful nature was con- 
strained to own that he had already allowed this 
woman to occupy a hundred times more of his 
thoughts than any other member of her sex had ever 
done before. 

He descended the staircase absently, still pondering 
the disastrous state of things. 

“ How there looked him in the face 
An angel, beautiful and bright, 

And how he knew it was a fiend, 

That miserable knight ! ” 

Just as he reached the hall, the carriage drove up, 
the pitiless rain pelting on the smoking horses and 
the white mackintoshes of the men. The two Fordes 


THE IDES OF MARCH. 


io 7 

alighted, and Evelyn, pleased to see his friend, went 
forward to greet him. Mrs. Saxon, who was, as 
usual, arranging details of the Sanitary League meet- 
ing with her friend, came out from the drawing-room 
leaving the door open ; so that Mr. Westmorland, 
from a seat at the fire, could see Evelyn standing 
over pretty Leo and smiling at some remark of hers. 

She was looking charming. In great trepidation 
had she donned her little white gown and sash, 
ashamed of her own ignorance as to what was “ the 
proper thing to wear.” A long, red cloak covered 
her, and made her look like an old picture. Eve- 
lyn's father fancied her, to himself, standing in the 
great hall at Feverell, with the Westmorland emeralds 
about her throat, and robed in shimmering brocade. 
He longed for the time when he could take her in his 
arms, to kiss her and welcome his dear little daughter 
to her future rank and station. What an honour for 
the child ! but he must think she was worthy of it. 
Hope Merrion was, of course, the one he himself 
would have chosen ; but was it likely that such a 
girl would so much as look at a tongue-tied, heavy 
fellow like Evelyn ? Leo was a very good alternative ; 
he ought to be grateful it was no worse, and really 
she was looking at the Major as if she liked him ! 

Tpm had seen the return of the carriage, and was 
in the hall in an instant. 

“How first-rate of you to come through such 
weather ! ” he cried. 

“As the carriage arrived, I concluded Mrs. Saxon 
expected us,” said the doctor. “I had previously 
reduced my sister to the depths of despair by telling 
her that, as it was so wet, you would certainly not 
send for us.” 

“Of course we sent,” replied the young gentle- 
man ; “ this awful weather one wants somebody to 
cheer one up. Will you come upstairs to my sister's 
sitting-room ? ” 

Evelyn made his escape ; he was not going back 
fo the room where Hope w$s — not yet ! 


io8 


THE IDES OF MARCH . 


The kitchen at Hesselburgh was a charming place. 
Its old-fashioned, open range precluded its ever being 
used for cooking except on the rarest occasions. 
New stoves had been fitted into the other kitchens, 
which were nearer the servants’ hall. The stones of 
the floor were white as snow, the crimson matting 
formed a pretty contrast. The best dinner service, 
in all the rich depths of its old “ Crown Derby ” 
colouring, gleamed on the spotless dresser. The at- 
mosphere was always warm and sleepy, and soothed 
by the loud ticking of the immemorial “ grand- 
fathers clock ” in the corner. The huge, black, oak 
arm-chairs came from a farmhouse on the estate, 
and were more than three centuries old. 

Here nurse and Mrs. Heather, the housekeeper, 
used to sit on Sunday evenings in peace ; and here 
oftentimes of an evening Tom brought his pipe, 
and Hope and Muriel sat on the fender and made 
toffee. 

When the invading force to-day marched down the 
echoing passages and into their favourite haunt, they 
found the room already in occupation of the large 
tortoise-shell cat, Caligula by name, who was mounting 
guard over a quantity of bedding which surrounded 
the sumptuous fire. 

“ My stars ! ” cried Tom, who marched in grst, 
pausing to stare at the goodly show of matresses, 
pillows and blankets, “ this is jolly considerate of 
cookie, providing us with divans gratis. Walk in, 
ladies and gentlemen ! This is not, as you might 
think, the cooling-room of a Turkish bath.” 

“Sakes alive!” ejaculated Mrs. Heather, to the 
official next in rank to herself, pausing with the pas- 
try-scissors in her hand, “ if that ain’t Master Tom 
took and marched all the visitors into my kitchen, 
with all the bedding airing for the gentlemen that’s 
coming over from Tettle shooting ! ” 

She trotted her stout self into the kitchen and 
paused with the broadest of grins on her good- 
humoured countenance, at sight of Tom, Muriel, Miss 


THE IDES OF MARCH. 


109 

Merrion, Mr. Lyster, and the two Fordes, all arrived 
in her territory. 

“ Master Tom, whatever are you doing with my 
cat ? ” 

“He doesn’t want all these pillows, cookie ; I’m 
going to make the ladies comfortable. ” 

‘ ‘ The ladies would be a deal more comfortable in 
the parlour, sir, I’m sure.” 

“ Oh ! you go along back where you came from, 
old lady. Where are all those grouse I brought in 
last week ? ” 

“ Hanging, of course, sir.” 

“You pick me out a pair of the nicest.” 

“ The missis has give orders for all that isn’t for 
table to-morrow to be sent down to the Deanery.” 

“You bet they don’t go ! I’m not going to shoot 
birds for the blooming Deanery ! ” cried Tom, much ex- 
ercised with the weight of the mattresses, combined 
with this opposition to his will. “ There, Miss 
Forde ! you’ll find that luxury itself ! How fortunate 
all these things were handy ! Three men are coming 
over from Tettle to shoot with my paier to-morrow, 
and that’s why, I suppose ! Now, I’ll go and cook 
your tea myself, as cookie seems to have got a pain 
in her temper. Come along, Mrs. Heather, you just 
do as I tell you ; ” and he drove the submissive old 
woman out of the kitchen, shut the door, and could 
be heard distinctly, though distantly, asking if she 
thought Mrs. Abbot, at Learning, ever made diffi- 
culties when he wanted anything. 

“ But we’re off to Learning next week, so perhaps 
we shall be a bit more comfortable,” he concluded, 
pathetically. 

Any mention of Learning always disarmed cookie 
at once, as the artful Thomas knew full well, and he 
shortly reappeared with a beaming face, to announce 
that a recherche collation would soon be forthcoming. 

“ Tom, these pillows are too luxurious, I shall soon 
be asleep,” said Muriel, in the soothing tones of 
absolute comfort. 


no 


THE IDES OF MARCH 


The three gentlemen preferred the oak chairs, but 
the girls all looked very pretty, reclining among their 
cushions. Richard Forde thought Muriel appeared 
like the beauty in the Palace of Sleep, with her soft 
golden locks shading her calm brow. This kitchen 
tea-party was certainly a wonderfully good prescrip- 
tion for banishing formality and producing friendliness. 
It was hardly to be believed that they were all meet- 
ing for the first time, so sociable did they speedily 
become. 

“ Tom, let us be brilliant, and devise sports,” cried 
Hope, who was in high spirits. “ Here are six of us 
— young and able-bodied. Can we not invent some- 
thing to astonish the elders to-night — a charade, or 
something ? ” 

“ A charade ? Oh, do ! ” cried Leo. 

After all, these “ county” girls were very easy to 
get on with — quite simple and natural, and with appar- 
ently the same tastes as she herself. 

“ A good idea, Hope — you invent one,” said Muriel, 
placidly. 

“ Isn't that Muriel to a T ! ” cried Tom, fraternally. 
“You invent, and she'll play. That's the division of 
labour. Hope and I get up at five to gather mush- 
rooms, and Muriel eats them. ” 

Muriel laughed in perfectly good-humoured ac- 
quiescence. 

“ Well, Hope and you are brilliant — I'm not,” she 
replied. ‘ ‘ That was a splendid charade you invented 
at Cousin Mary’s last Easter. Won’t you do that 
again ? ” 

“ Impossible!” cried Hope ; “ that only included 
us two, and we want something to set everybody 
busy to-night, with heaps of dressing-up.” 

“ We have a property-box, absolutely full of stage 
costumes, which want airing most awfully,” an- 
nounced Tom. 

“ Let us have tableaux vivants” suggested Richard 
Forde. “ I am a splendid hand at keeping still.” 

This idea found general favour ; even Muriel was 


THE IDES OF MARCH. , x t 

delighted with it. Tom was despatched to bid one 
of the maids bring down the costume-box into Muriels 
sitting-room, and to see that the background of cur- 
tains was duly erected in the large drawing-room. 
Hope took out a pencil, begged a half-sheet of paper 
from Mollie, and prepared to be business-like. Every- 
one made impossible suggestions, and even Muriel 
was in fits of laughter when Tom reappeared, his 
countenance visibly sobered down. 

“ I say,” he said, lugubriously, “ the mater thinks 
we ought to invite Westmorland to be in the show. ” 


CHAPTER XIII. 

TABLEAUX VIVANTS. 

A stranger, and alone, 

Among that brotherhood, 

The monk Felix stood. 

Longfellow. 

After an instantaneous, but significant pause, 
Muriel said, calmly. 

‘ ‘ Of course. But where is he ? ” 

“In the library, or the billiard-room, I imagine. 
He can't be out of doors in this cataract. Shall I 
go and tell him we are here ? ” 

“ I wish you would, dear Tom,” said his sister; 
and the good-humoured boy danced off, and, opening 
the library door, peeped cautiously in. 

The Major was seated in a low American chair 
near the window, doing absolutely nothing but gaz- 
ing out upon the persistent rain. His hands were 
deeply thrust into his pockets, and he was so still, 
that at first Tom thought that he was asleep ; but the 
large steady grey eyes were wide open, with a look 
in them which was both weary and sad. 


1 1 2 


THE IDES OF MARCH. 


“I say, Westmorland, you’re looking down in the 
mouth,” said Tom, cheerily. “No wonder, if you sit 
here with nobody to interview but that confounded 
rain ! I have been sent to hunt you out. ” 

Evelyn looked up, and half closed the book upon 
his knee. 

“You’re very kind,” he said, “but I am sorry 
you should trouble about me. I have been read- 
ing.” 

“Well, they’re all having tea in the kitchen,” per- 
suasively went on the ambassador, “and now they 
are all seized with an idea to have impromtu tableaux 
to-night. We want your opinion — come on.” 

Evelyn looked distressed. 

“I’m no good at it, Tom. I should feel like a fish 
out of water among you all. ” 

“Oh, rubbish!” was the friendly answer, “you 
used to be fond of such things ! What has come over 
you ? ” 

As the frank, humorous young face bent over him, 
the Major felt a sudden impulse of friendliness to- 
wards the boy. 

“ I think I am growing old, Tom,” he said, with a 
sigh. “We lead a lonely life at Feverell.” 

“ Old ! A fine joke ! Shake it off and come along. 
Ycfu miss no end of the fun, always moping away by 
yourself, I tell you.” 

“I don’t fancy I — I’m much wanted either,” hesi- 
tated Evelyn. 

Tom felt a little guilty, as he thought of that sud- 
den hush in the kitchen which had greeted the 
speaker’s name, but he gave a straightforward, manly 
answer. 

“The fact is, that they think you look down on 
them. You put your back into it, show ’em what you 
can do, and they’ll all think no end of you.” 

Evelyn laughed. Such persuasiveness could not 
fail to impress ; besides, his lonely heart was long- 
ing to be cheered — he wanted to feel once more young 
amongst the young. He laid down his book, with a 


THE IDES OF MARCH. 


1*3 

paper-knife to mark the place — the page over which 
he had been reflecting. 

u One likes to show the truth for the truth. 

That the woman was light, is very true. 

But suppose she says ‘ ‘ Never mind that youth. 

What wrong have I done to you ? ” 

He repeated those words, those last words, over to 
himself as Tom and he passed through the swing- 
door, and threaded the tortuous stone passages in the 
servants' regions. What harm had she done to him ? 
Was he justified in showing so sharp, so decided a 
resentment ! Would it not, after all, be better to treat 
her with dignified politeness, declining only any ad- 
vances towards intimacy ? He was half afraid that 
he had been behaving rather foolishly. 

Anything more comical, and, at the same moment, 
more inviting, than the aspect of the kitchen as they 
entered, would be difficult to imagine. A zealous and 
much amused kitchen-maid had just spread the table 
with tea, jam, piles of hot cakes, and the peculiar 
glory of Tom's menu — grouse, stewed with mush- 
rooms in cream. 

Mollie had been commanded to take the head of 
the table, and Richard was handing cups to the three 
girls, enthroned among the billowing mattresses. 

‘•'Hope!" were the words that greeted Evelyn’s 
ear, in Leo Forde's bright tones. “ Here are three of 
us — could we not have a girl's tableau — the three 
virtues ? " 

“Capital ! ” said Mollie approvingly. 

“I am so tired of puns on my name ! " objected Hope, 
petulantly. 

“Your name is so very characteristic, duckie," 
said Tom. 

“So it is," agreed Muriel, “you always see the 
bright side of things. " 

“ Miss Merrion must see the epitaph at Learning, 
must she not, Tom? " asked Mollie. 

“ I was thinking of that," said Muriel. “There is 

8 


THE IDES OF MARCH. 


m 

a tablet in the wall of the church at Learning, with 
an inscription which entirely turns upon a pun on 
your name, Hope.” 

“Yes, a last century man, of the romantic name 
of Pepper, who modestly describes himself as a 
“man of letters,” lost his only daughter, who was 
called Hope,” said Tom, narratively, “and he put 
up a very pretty verse to her memory, very pretty 
indeed, though the first line is either cribbed from a 
very well-known one, or else is a strange coinci- 
dence. Let’s see — can you say it, Mollie ? ” 

Mr. Lyster took off his spectacles, and recited as 
follows : 

“ Hope lives for ever in ye human herte, 

When Hope dyes, therefore, thou hast done thy parte. 

Go, rest, poor soule ! with lyfe thou canst not cope, 

Nor bear its sorrows, havyng lost thy Hope ! ” 

“There is real pathos in that,” said Richard, feel- 
ingly. 

“It is true, no one could live without Hope,” 
said the owner of that name impetuously, and some- 
thing bright flashed in her expressive eyes. 

Tom, looking at her sympathetically, knew that 
she was thinking of Nellie, the girl who had resigned 
first hope, then existence, and now, after life’s fitful 
fever, slept well in the very churchyard where this 
other Hope was laid. 

“ Every Sunday, as her heart was slowly breaking, 
she must have read that dreary tablet on the wall, ” 
thought the girl, with passionate sympathy and re- 
gret : the story had certainly made a deep impression 
on her. 

Evelyn was very silent. The recitation of the old 
quatrain had recalled to his mind the piece of dog- 
gerel which had turned his father’s brain. Two lines 
in it came forcibly before him, and, in the light of 
that fanciful play upon a name, gave him a curious 
sensation. 

“ Withouten Hope it shullde betyde, 

The last sonne ys an only childe.” 


THE IDES OF MARCH. 1 1 5 

“ What folly, ” he thought to himself in angry con- 
tempt, but he was thankful that none of the audience 
present knew of the prophecy. 

It was impossible to tell to what foolish conclusions 
Tom’s sharp wits would have led him. 

He looked at Miss Merrion ; it was almost the 
first time he had allowed his eyes to rest upon her 
since he discovered her identity. Her wide, sad eyes 
were fixed upon the pouring rain outside, her small 
smooth cheek, slightly flushed by contact with the 
great fire, rested on her hand. In spite of her late 
high spirits, she was feeling depressed, ashamed of 
the nonsense she had talked to Tom, with the sole 
object of disgusting the Major. A sense of injustice 
and cruelty on his part gave her a feeling of wrong. 
Why was he so hard and merciless to her, when he 
was so good and tender to his most irritating father ? 
She looked at him, perhaps for an answer to this con- 
undrum, and met the fixed gaze of his steady grey 
eyes. 

It seemed to Evelyn Westmorland as if a strange 
thrill passed over his whole being. His heart leaped, 
as if it would rise to his throat, the blood coursed 
madly through his frame. For a moment everything 
grew dim to his sight, then astonishingly clear. For 
how long had he been gazing into those wide 
eyes, with their wet lashes? A second? an hour? 
And what could it mean, this sudden, new emotion 
which enfolded him? Was it pain or pleasure? 
What did he want to do ? To take Hope Merrion to 
his heart, and kiss away the drops that trembled in 
act to fall ? 

With what seemed to him a bodily wrench he tore 
his look away from her face, and looked down at his 
plate, to steady himself ; the hand which grasped it 
was shaking. 

Well ! it was over. The chat in the room was 
going on as before. Nobody had noticed his brief 
aberration. He could believe now in the story of the 
sirens. How strong it had been, momentarily, that 


1 1 6 THE IDES OF MARCH 

strange, horrible, delicious impulse ! It filled him 
with shame and repugnance. 

“I. seem marked for misfortune, ” was his morbid 
reflection. “All my life, I have never known what 
men meant by falling in love ; why am I visited now 
by this horrible infatuation ? Fortunately, I am old 
enough and strong enough to hate it and to crush it” 

He looked, at the moment, as if he were ready to 
hate and to crush the unconscious cause of so much 
disorder. Hope winced as she encountered his morose 
look. She rather inclined to the idea that his solitary 
life with his eccentric father had made him unlike 
other people ; she could not otherwise explain his 
extraordinary attitude of personal enmity. That he 
should dislike the woman whom he believed to have 
treated his friend badly, seemed natural enough, but 
this fierce hostility was unaccountable. She had 
never before encountered hatred, and it pained her 
unspeakably ; moreover, she thought the whole party 
must soon see it, it was so offensively obvious. 

“ Hope/' said she to herself, “some measures must 
be taken to stop this. You must pick up the dignity 
which, when with Tom and Muriel, you habitually 
lay aside, and show this man his place.” 

“ Hope is Hope, Muriel Faith, and Miss Forde 
Charity,” announced Tom, with unction. “Westmor- 
land, will you be a wounded knight, for Miss Forde to 
exercise her charitable functions upon ? ” 

“Certainly,” said Evelyn, promptly, for he liked 
Leo. 

“ What am I to do with him ? Give him a dose of 
medicine?” asked the young lady, quaintly. 

“No, no ! How unpoetical you are ! ” cried Tom. 
“He is dying for his country, or something of that 
kind, and you support his fainting head.” 

“I hope he will not forget what it is he dies for, 
like Gambetta,” laughed Richard. 

“ I don’t have to say anything, do I ?” cried Eve- 
lyn, in sudden panic. 

“No, no, no — oh, dear, no ! You merely have to 


THE IDES OF MARCH 


II 7 

look half dead and interesting, ” said Tom, reassur- 
ingly. 

“I feel certain I ought to be holding a cup to his 
lips,” said Leo. 

“ I think it would look well,” opined Mollie. 

“ I shall whisper to you ‘a tablespoonful in water, 
three times a day/” said Leo, solemnly. 

‘‘If you do, 111 punish you, you young monkey,” 
said Richard, with severity. 

“ It would be still more realistic if you were to hold 
his nose, Miss Forde,” put in the incorrigible Tom. 

“Don’t make game, Tom, this is a serious tableau,” 
said Muriel, ‘ ‘ and it will be very pretty. I shall hold 
a lamp, as well as the ebony cross, and Hope will 
have the great anchor which we made for Britannia. ” 

“Couldn’t I be kneeling at her feet, as her knight, 
with my motto painted whacking big on my shield, 
Dum spiro spero?” pleaded Tom. 

“ No nonsense, Tom. That tableau is settled most 
satisfactorily. Now, the next is the Casket Scene 
from the ‘Merchant of Venice.’ Hope is Portia, Miss 
Forde Nerissa, Major Westmorland Bassanio, Tom 
Gratiano. That ought to be a good one, the dresses 
are lovely.” 

“And next,” cried Hope, interrupting, “Tenny- 
son’s ‘Day Dream,' in three scenes, Mr. Forde as 
the Prince, Muriel the enchanted Princess. In the 
first scene, the Prince, with drawn sword, lifts the 
curtain and looks in ; in the second, he bends over 
the couch ; in the third, everybody is wide-awake. ” 

“Capital ! ” said Mollie, “and, with the three others 
already settled, that makes enough, I think. Now to 
rehearsal. ” 

“We will retire upstairs for that, as you have all 
done tea, and there we can inspect the costumes,” 
suggested Muriel ; and they evacuated the kitchen, 
pausing on the way to propose and carry a vote of 
thanks to cookie for her hospitality. 

Evelyn was surprised to find that the grouping and 
arranging for these tableaux was anything but irksome 


THE IDES OF MARCH. 


1 1 8 

to him. Perhaps a word or two of approbation was 
felt to be more stimulating than he was willing to 
allow. A murmur from one of the girls of “Major 
Westmorland really does it very well,” an approving 
nod from Mr. Lyster, had their effect, though he might 
not care to own that it was so. 

His appearance in armour — one of the suits from the 
hall — was certainly captivating. Mrs. Saxon looked 
in on the busy company for a minute to announce 
that she had sent the carriage for the curate and his 
wife, and Mr. and Mrs. Copeland to swell their audi- 
ence ; and she paused, really surprised at the fine look 
of his square, stern head and dark, closely-curling hair, 
set off by the gleaming corselet. His casque he held in 
his hand, and the mistress of the house stood so long 
regarding him that, at last, it struck even him as amus- 
ing. He laughed his rare, pleasant laugh, and made 
her a sweeping bow. 

“ Has your ladyship any commands to lay upon 
me?” he asked. 

“ Such as to fetch the ‘ mighty Boke' from the hand 
of the dead wizard, Michael Scott ? No, but you 
look quite fitted for such an errand,” said the lady, 
with real admiration, “though hardly such an un- 
lettered champion as Deloraine; more like Hope's 
favourite, Count Gismond, perhaps.” 

“Not in the least like Count Gismond ! ” cried 
Hope, in a hurry; and then checked herself, and 
added, confusedly, ‘ ‘ at least, I always think Gismond 
was fair.” 

“Scarcely, if you consider his nationality,” said 
Mrs. Saxon ; “but I must be off and settle the pre- 
liminaries of this impromptu dinner-party.” 

“We Saxons love to do things on the spur of the 
moment,” remarked Tom, in tones of satisfaction, as 
the door closed upon her. “You will see what a 
success this show will be just because it is sponta- 
neous — evolved out of our respective consciousness ; 
only one wants to be awfully clever to do it well. 
Fortunately, we are that.” 


THE IDES OF MARCH 


lig 

“ We are, we are ! ” laughed Hope. 

It seemed to Evelyn as if that whole evening passed 
away like a dream, until suddenly he awakened to 
find himself alone in Mrs. Saxon’s morning-room, 
which was doing duty as a green-room. 

He walked in clad in his armour, fully attired for 
his part in the “Three Virtues” tableau. Nobody 
was there ; another picture, in which he had no part, 
was being shown. He had already appeared, as a 
very handsome Bassanio in the “Casket Scene,” and 
his father had only wished that Leo, and not Hope, 
had been the Portia; though he was constrained to 
admit that the parts had been rightly allotted, and 
that to reverse them would be to spoil the tableau. 

Hope’s expression of dignity struggling with long- 
ing, suspense, and fear, was inimitable. Bassanio 
looked as if he fully realised the gravity of the 
situation. 

“I am a born actress, am I not?” Hope had said 
afterwards to Muriel, as she removed the heavy 
brocade from her slim person. “I so lost myself in 
the part that I quite forgot how I dislike that man ! ” 

“Do you dislike him?” asked Muriel, with a faint 
accent of surprise. 

Hope made a gesture of repugnance, and gave a 
little shudder. 

“He is like a bad conscience, always reminding 
me of my one great mistake. ” 

“ What do you mean ?” 

“ I have not told you before — somehow it made 
me feel sick to talk of it ; but he is a friend of Edgar 
Disney, and has heard his version of that hateful affair ! 
Ugh ! I wish I had not mentioned it, it puts a bad 
taste in my mouth. I sometimes think, Muriel, that 
I wish I had never been bom.’’ 

“ It is no good to wish that,” was the calm answer, 
“because you are born; you don’t want to die, do 
you ? ” 

“No!” cried Hope sharply, drawing her two 
hands suddenly to her heart as if to shut in fhQ life. 


120 


THE IDES OF MARCH 


“no, no! I do not want to die. I love life — espe- 
cially in summer time, I love it ! I want to keep it, 
and enjoy it. I will not let him spoil it ; I will be 
happy in spite of him ! ” 

Muriel stood very still, her golden hair in a shower 
about her, looking earnestly at her friend. 

“I wonder how it is/’ she observed at length, 
“that you always manage to crowd so many emo- 
tions into your life ? Nothing ever happens to me.” 

“I am always in a scrape, somehow/’ said Hope ; 
and she laughed, but the laugh was a tearful one. 

Tom banged on the door. 

“ Come on, Muriel ! You're wanted on at once." 

The golden-haired apparition vanished, and Hope, 
left to herself, resolutely dashed away the inconve- 
nient drops, and arrayed herself for her emblematical 
appearance in simple white draperies, with a diamond 
star in the soft hair above her forehead. 

She knew that she looked very pretty, as she stood 
before the long glass ; but she did not linger there, 
for personal vanity was a failing she was almost 
wholly without. Gathering up her trailing white 
robes, she crept softly into the green-room to find her 
anchor ; and there stood Evelyn, in full harness, his 
arms folded over the hilt of his huge sword. 


CHAPTER XIV. 

THE MAJOR TO THE RESCUE. 

One should master one’s passions — love in chief 
And be loyal to one’s friends. 

R. Browning. 

Each faced the other silently a moment, and then 
Hope turned aside and fetched her great gilt anchor 
from the corner where it leaned against the wall. 


THE IDES OF MARCH. 


1 2 1 


Without a word to her companion, she sat down and 
began to arrange a wreath of flowers round its stem, 
After a complete silence, he spoke with great sud- 
denness. 

“What made you say that I was not like Count 
Gismond ? ” 

She replied without looking up, or showing any 
signs of surprise. 

‘ ‘ Count Gismond would not believe slander against 
a woman," said she, gently. 

“Have I done so?” he asked, hesitatingly. 
“ Have I been too hasty — believed something about 
you that was not true ? ” 

“I am really quite unable to inform you,” said 
Hope, sarcastically. “I fancy you know very little 
of me, and you have thought proper to be extremely 
rude ; but as to your beliefs or misbeliefs about me, 
I am quite ignorant, and I must confess that they 
trouble me very little.” 

He was not at once ready with a rejoinder. When 
at last he spoke, it was with some agitation. 

“I hate injustice,” he said, in the tone of one excus- 
ing himself, “and I think I resent injuries to my 
friends more keenly than injuries to myself. I have 
been led to believe that you are the Miss Merrion 
who has broken my friend’s heart ; if I have been 
too hasty — if there is any mistake, I shall feel like 
despairing of forgiveness.” 

He waited, but she gave no answer. 

“ Has there been a mistake?” he asked, severely. 

“ I think there has, but it is a slight one,” she said 
at last, and coolly. “ I am not at all inclined to be- 
lieve that I have broken any one’s heart ; but it is 
true that I was engaged to Captain Disney, and that 
t broke the engagement. I believe these are the facts 
which, in your judgment deprive me of the right to 
the ordinary conventional civilities of society.” 

“ I am afraid,” he said in a low voice, “ that I have 
expressed my feelings with unwarrantable plainness. 
I — I think, though, you would find it easier to forgive 


122 


THE IDES OF MARCH. 


me if you could see his letters, and easier to believe 
in your having made him suffer terribly. ” 

“ Captain Disney was always a good letter- writer/' 
said Hope, icily. “ I have seen specimens of his skill 
in that way.” 

“ You can never have known him, if you speak of 
him in that tone.” 

“ I wish I never had,” she replied, emphatically. 

“We shall always disagree on this point,” he said, 
“Always. It is a waste of time to discuss 

He looked at her in a tumult of feeling, as she sat 
deftly twining the flowers about her anchor, with 
graceful movements of her white bare arms. Utterly 
heartless ! he thought. And yet he yearned to know 
the whole — to know why Miss Merrion had dismissed 
her lover. 

“ I wish I knew the whole facts of the case ! ” he 
burst out, almost without intending it. 

“That you never will,” said Hope, decidedly, 
“for I have not the slightest wish or intention to justify 
myself to you ; and you will certainly not get the 
truth from Captain Disney.” 

“ This of my friend ! Thank you, Miss Merrion,” 
he said, in deep resentment. 

“ I am sure the subject must be very painful to you, 
but, in fairness, remember that you introduced the 
discussion,” was her quiet answer. 

He turned away, baffled : and, as he turned, she 
raised her eyes and looked at him, a curious look, 
impossible to describe. 

The door was now opened to admit Leo and Muriel, 
both dressed for their parts, and both looking exceed- 
ingly pretty. 

Evelyn thought, however, that something was 
wanting in both of them — that rare, subtle charm 
which he felt that Hope possessed. He was con- 
vinced, at last, that this charm was a snare ; he did 
not believe that it was possessed by any woman truly 
simple-minded and modest ; he was half inclined tp 


angrily 


THE IDES OF MARCH. 


123 

hold that it was horror which stirred him as his eyes 
so perversely rested upon her. He noticed her pretty 
arm, curved so delicately about her flower-wreathed 
emblem, and the little flexible fingers which coaxed 
the blossoms into place with tender touches. Cruel 
hands ! They had not scrupled to toss Disney’s heart 
away in the dust, as the little feet danced along their 
happy road of popularity, youth, and sunshine ! 

“ How pretty you have made your anchor! ” cried 
Leo, with warm admiration. 

“ I am thinking I have misinterpreted my character,” 
she answered, with a small, unsteady laugh. “ I 
wish that I had adopted the imagery of the painter, 
Watts, and blinded my eyes, and sat me down in sad- 
ness with my harp, and all the strings broken except 
one. It is far nearer our earthly idea of Hope ! ” 

“ Nonsense, duckie,” said Tom, who had come in 
as she made this cheerful speech, “don’t talk like that, 
but make haste. Come along, William of Deloraine ! ” 
It was a pretty picture. Hope was the glory of it. 
Every one’s eyes rested longest on the inspired little 
face, and the limbs so lightly poised that it seemed as if 
she must float upwards. Muriel looked like a saint en- 
shrined, the light of her lamp flickering over her peace- 
ful face : and Leo was most tenderly sympathetic as 
she bent over the wounded hero. 

It was a thousand pities that any untoward adven- 
ture should mar the artistic pleasure which this tableau 
created. Muriel’s lamp was formed by a piece of 
lighted candle which had accidentally become loose, 
having been insecurely fixed ; moreover, it is difficult, 
as every one knows, to hold anything straight for long, 
without looking at it, and, after a very short time, 
the strain of lifting her arm so high made her hand 
shake. It took but a puff of wind from a suddenly 
opened door to blow over the toppling candle, and it 
fell on Charity’s flimsy white robe. 

Muriel, her eyes being fixed in another direction, 
did not know that it was the lighted candle which 
dropped. Leo, stooping over her knight, did not 


124 


THE IDES OF MARCH. 


regard it ; it was not until a bright forked flame shot 
up in the eyes of the recumbent knight himself, that 
he leaped to his feet, to see the young girl in a blaze. 

Leo, for the moment, was panic-struck, and would 
have run, but Evelyn caught her in a grip like iron, 
and, horribly impeded by his armour, forced her 
down upon the floor. The flame touching her flesh 
at the moment made her shriek, there was a rush for- 
ward of the audience, and Richard was on the plat- 
form in a moment, but Hope was quickest. In an 
instant she had seized one of the heavy curtains which 
were hung on screens to form a background to the 
stage, and before even Tom, who had darted for the 
hearth-rug in the green-room could return, had flung 
it to the Major, who, holding it down on the strug- 
gling girl, crushed out the fire in a moment. 

“It is all right,” he said at once, in his natural 
voice, and quite composedly. “Tom, tell them there 
is no harm done. Miss Forde, are you unhurt? I 
am afraid I was rather rough with you, but there was 
not a moment to be lost.” 

“She has fainted,” said her brother, hurriedly, as 
he bent over her with ashy face and trembling voice. 
“ God bless you, Westmorland, she must have been 
hurt before I could get to her.” 

“Is she not burned at all?” asked the Major, in a 
tone of keen anxiety. 

“ I can scarcely tell ; her dress is scorched — no ! I 
certainly don't see anything,” said Dick, feverishly. 
“ Poor little woman ! Leo darling !” 

“Lift her up,” said Evelyn, in the short, military 
tones of one commanding. “Carry her upstairs, lay 
her on her bed. Don't let her come to herself in 
this crowd.” 

Dick obediently followed instructions, and carried 
the pale form of sweet Charity through the sympa- 
thetic audience into the hall, where he paused irreso- 
lute, until Muriel's gentle tones were heard. 

“This way, to my room — oh \ it was all my fault ! ” 

she cried. 


THE IDES OF MATCH 


125 

“ There is no harm done, indeed, Miss Saxon/’ said 
Richard, gasping a little over his burden, “ she is only 
frightened, not hurt, thanks to Westmorland ; he’s a 
queer sort, but a real help in an emergency. ” 

So they proceeded to Muriel’s room, where, with 
the help of nurse, they devoted themselves to Leo. 

“And now, I suppose, I can go and get rid of this 
ridiculous get-up,” said Evelyn, crossly, walking into 
the green-room. 

His eyes looked round restlessly, apparently in 
search of some one who was not there. 

“Well done, indeed, Sir Knight,” cried cordial little 
Mollie, beaming through his spectacles with effusion. 

“It is Miss Merrion really whom we should thank,” 
was the bluff reply. “ I had nothing handy, and this 
detestable armour was so much in my way. She has 
a great deal of presence of mind.” 

‘ ‘ She has, indeed, everything one could wish. I 
have never known any one so charming,” was the 
warm answer. Evelyn was silent at this, and marched 
out of the room, coming, in the hall, suddenly into 
contact with his father. He started back, puzzled at 
the strangely softened look in the face which, to him, 
usually expressed so much acerbity. 

“My dear Evelyn, my dear son,” faltered Mr. 
Westmorland, taking the big hand in both of his. 
“Evelyn, my boy, I am proud of you — yes, proud ! ” 

Evelyn, stood petrified ; he was far too shy to re- 
ceive so totally unexpected a tribute gracefully, but 
his whole heart softened and swelled out on the in- 
stant to answer this precious touch of love. He felt 
an uncomfortable expanding in his throat, and the 
colour came to his dark face, as he said, harshly. 

“You are mistaken, I did nothing. It was the ob- 
vious thing. I was nearest to her. ” 

“You did well,” was the answer, with the voice 
and manner of an emperor commending his vassal, 
“exceedingly well, and the circumstance will no 
doubt tell in your favour with the young lady.” 

“I don’t so much care about that,” said his son, 


126 


THE IDES OF MARCH. 


between his teeth, “so long as it tells in my favour 
with you.” 

Whereat the old man looked him in the eyes, 
narrowly, and yet kindly, and replied, with an af- 
fectionate smile. 

“My son, if you sincerely wish for my favour, you 
know full well the immediate way to obtain it,” and 
so passed on, down the passage, leaving the soldier 
with his heart beating great, heavy strokes against 
his side, because his father had spoken a kind word 
to him. 

He repaired to his room, and rang up the valet to 
help him out of his armour, a rare proceeding with 
him ; and when the man arrived, 

“You must get the scissors, and cut me out of this 
sleeve, please,” he said, “or you may be bringing 
off the skin as well ; I am scorched, I fancy.” 

He had a considerable burn, four or five inches 
long, and very raw, and it was painful enough to 
make him set his teeth firmly while Farren was 
dressing it ; but for all that it was little heed he took 
of the pain, for dwelling on the words that had so 
warmed his heart. 

“It’s fearfully hard to go against him when he is 
kind, ” he thought. 4 ‘ God bless him ! what a wonder- 
ful man he is.” 

And, after the servant had left him, he sat down 
for a little while alone, to steady himself, and so fell 
to reflecting and musing as to whether or no it were 
quite impossible for him to carry out that beloved 
fathers will. It surely would not be hard to be 
gentle and kind all the days of his life to a bright 
creature like Leo Forde. And what a companion she 
would be for his father ! For, in these for the first- 
time-indulged matrimonial schemes, the idea of 
separating from him never once occurred to Evelyn. 
She would light up the old house, and amuse them 
both. And she, at least, was innocent and ingenuous. 
Surely he could keep her so. If only she did not 
find him, Evelyn, too terribly dull, That was his 


THE IDES OE MATCH. 


127 


weak point. He felt himself so incapable of holding 
such a young, whimsical thing, full of life and joy ; 
he seemed to himself, owing to his father’s long 
training, quite destitute of the power to attract strongly. 
He had always fought so shy of women that now he 
was out of touch with them. All freedom of inter- 
course had been checked by Mr. Westmorland’s non- 
sense about the prophecy, and the experience of his 
garrison friends had not been encouraging. 

And yet — yet — was it not his duty to risk it now ? 
Certainly he was not in love with Leo, but at all 
events she had no rival . . . no, no rival. He could 
devote his life to doing his duty to her — making her 
as happy as he knew how. He did not believe in 
* ‘ falling in love. ” It was an illusion — a fantasy. 

He caught his breath sharply, and closed his eyes. 
The vision of Hope rose before him — Hope in her 
white robes, with milky arms twining flowers about 
the golden anchor ; he smelt vividly the perfume of 
violets which always seemed to go with her. It re- 
volted him. To marry Leo, to have a wife and 
interests of his own — would not that be the best way 
to cure the inexplicable madness which had seized 
him ? He felt as if he must build up defences, make 
walls, dig trenches, to separate himself from the 
hateful influence — from the power she seemed to 
exhale, as flowers do sweetness. 

“I believe I ought to try,” he said, half aloud. 
“He will be so pleased — and he is all I have to care 
about. ” 


128 


THE IDES OF MARCH. 


CHAPTER XV. 

A DESIGNING GIRL 

Neither man’s aristocracy, this, nor God’s — God knoweth ! 

Arthur Hugh Clough. 

It is curious to notice how, in this our wide-awake 
and carefully-guarded century, wherein nobody is 
surprised and nothing ever happens for which every- 
one was not fully prepared, — what a sensation any 
kind of adventure, no matter how trifling, makes in 
the British household. 

In the days when watchmen were set upon the 
walls continually, the everlasting presence of danger 
braced the nerves, it is to be supposed ; but at 
Hesselburgh, the least jar in the admirably oiled 
household machinery was an extraordinary exception. 

The incident of the fire and of the Majors prompt 
action spread like magic. The servants eyed him 
with admiring glances when he appeared again, and 
told all their particular friends in the village. Mr. 
Clarke, the curate, and Mr. and Mrs. Copeland made 
a point of driving next morning into Norchester to 
let folks have the benefit of a ripple of news in the 
stagnant pool of dulness which was their chronic 
condition. Mr. Clarke had an errand at the Residence. 
With all the pride of an eye-witness, he related to 
Canon Shorthouse the thrilling and romantic incident. 
Mrs. Shorthouse called that very afternoon on Mrs. 
Hancock to let her share in the piquancy of the 
sensation. 

Mrs. Hancock and her son were seated among all 
the glories of clean chintzes and stiff white Notting- 
ham lace curtains in their drawing-room, entertaining 


THE IDES OF MARCH. 


129 

the Miss Presses with tea. The music-stool wore a 
crochet antimacassar with an air of conscious pride, 
and not only the gilt chimney mirror, but also the 
green and white lustres were duly provided with pink- 
paper filagree coverings. Mrs. Hancock prided her- 
self upon being a good housekeeper. The tea was 
beyond reproach, certainly, and the old silver melon 
teapot as bright as care could make it. Mr. Sayers 
Hancock handed round hot cakes to the two thin 
spinster ladies with genial, though nervous good will. 

Mrs. Hancock wore, super-added (as Laurence 
Sterne would say) to the festive purple gown, a large 
collar of Limerick lace, in the centre of which a li vely 
miniature of the late Mr. Hancock reposed, with a 
roguish smile ; though, if local report was to be trusted, 
which it probably was not, his connubial repose 
whilst he was still in the flesh, had not been as ideal 
as it might be. 

Into these surroundings the canon’s wife was cor- 
dially received ; and surely no atmosphere could have 
been more congenial for such a charming little piece 
of news. She was not in a hurry ; she never spoilt 
the effect of an announcement by an ill-considered 
haste. Like Louis Moore, she preferred to taste the 
nectar of existence cool as dew. It was not until she 
had drunk a cup of tea, eaten two pieces of well but- 
tered tea-cake, and been informed that the Misses Gall 
(five in number) had gone abroad, and that the mar- 
ried brother of the Misses Openshaw was, after all, 
not to be expected from America this summer, that 
she remarked, casually. 

“ I suppose you have heard that the Fordes were at 
Hesselburgh last night ? ” 

The red and vindictive eye of Mrs. Hancock fixed 
itself balefully on the speaker. 

“ Oh, indeed ! A party ? ” said she. 

“A party it must have been, by all I can hear, 
though Mr. Clarke, who was present, says it was an 
impromptu one.” 

“Present, was he?” said the elder Miss Press, in 

9 


130 THE IDES OF MAE CD. 

breathless interest. ‘ ‘ And did he tell you all about 
it?" 

“ It was a theatrical party," announced Mrs. Short- 
house, bringing out the dire news with a look of per- 
fect unconcern, as if she were ignorant of the flutter 
of disapproval which would infallibly follow her state- 
ment. 

“Iam not in the least surprised," said Mrs. Han- 
cock, superbly. 

“I really don’t know what the dean and Mrs. Gos- 
lett will say ! ” cried Miss Harriet Press. 

“ It’s much good their saying will do them ! ” re- 
turned the hostess, grimly. “I hear there are to be 
theatricals at the palace next Christmas." 

“We live to see changes," said Miss Press, piously, 
as if resolved that it was her duty to take theatricals 
as patiently as any other trial. 

“Were they good? The theatricals,” questioned 
the stout and bearded Mr. Sayers Hancock, with some 
trepidation. 

His business was in Wokeford, which, as every one 
knows, is a manufacturing town and much more go- 
ahead than Norchester, and he was apt to think that his 
austere mother drew her line in too narrow a circle. 

He had seen nothing to censure, either in the coun- 
tenance or manners of Miss Forde. 

“ Mr. Clarke tells me they were most sumptuously 
got up ; Miss Merrion appeared covered with dia- 
monds," replied Mrs. Shorthouse, on whose utterances 
the whole party hung rapt. 

“Dear me ! that was the pretty girl who behaved 
so — ahem ! — so peculiarly at Duffield the other day,’’ 
said Miss Press ; ‘ ‘ walking about the gardens with 
half a dozen young gentlemen at her heels. ’’ 

“Just so ! But the interesting part of my story is 
yet to come," said the narrator, unable to resist a 
smile of intense satisfaction at this point. “Quite a 
romance in real life ! Though, indeed, it is a mercy 
the consequences were not more serious." 

“ Bless me ! What happened ? ” gasped Miss Har- 


THE IDES OF MARCH. 


i3l 

riet, while the eyes of all the rest of the audience 
asked the same question. 

“ May I trouble you with my cup, Mr. Hancock? ” 
went on the oracle, serenely. “Yes, thank you! 
Another cup, Mrs. Hancock — cream and sugar. Oh, 
thanks ! I always say your tea is more to be praised 
than any in Norchester. Another cake ! Must I ? 
I shall eat no dinner to-night ! But in these days five 
o’clock tea is such an institution.” 

Her listeners were on the rack, the tea-maker almost 
insensible even to compliment, so eager was she for 
what was coming. 

“You were saying ” she murmured. 

“I was saying,” said Mrs. Shorthouse, replacing 
her half-emptied cup in the saucer. “Oh, yes, about 
Miss Forde’s terrible accident.” 

“Accident ! ” 

“Leonora Forde!” they cried, almost simultane- 
ously. 

“Yes, indeed ! It is only through the presence of 
mind of Major Westmorland that she escaped being 
burnt to death.” 

“You don’t say so ! ” 

Here indeed was a sensation ! Here was some- 
thing to flavour the Norchester tea-parties all through 
the dreary winter months that were coming! An 
adventure ! An accident ! A rescue ! Victim — a 
pretty girl, hero— an eligible young man ! Nothing 
was lacking to heighten the interest or arouse the 
imagination. 

The very air vibrated with excitement, the un- 
amiable Maltese terrier with a pink ribbon about its 
neck, leaped from its cushions and yapped shrilly. 

“It appears,” said the canon’s wife, when order 
had been restored, ‘ ‘ that they were performing some 
scene in which Leo Forde, all in white, had to sup- 
port Major Westmorland’s head, he being dressed in 
armour. ” 

“Good gracious ! ” said Mrs. Hancock. 

“Miss, Saxon stood behind with a lighted torch, a 


THE IDES OF MARCH. 


132 

spark fell on Miss Forde’s dress, instantly she was a 
mass of flames. In a moment the Major had leaped 
to his feet, seized her in his arms, and, while all 
the spectators were dumb with horror, stamped out 
the fire with the utmost heroism. He was then seen 
to hang over her lifeless body in agony, repeatedly 
crying to her brother to know if she were hurt 
Finally he carried her upstairs in his arms.” 

‘‘What, the Major ?” said Mr. Hancock. 

“Yes, indeed! The canon had the whole story 
from Mr. Clarke who is not likely to make inaccurate 
statements ! Major Westmorland bore the uncon- 
scious girl upstairs, and then, overcome with emotion, 
retired to his own room and locked himself in. When 
at last he did come down, he was as white as ashes. 
Young Saxon went up to him and seized him by the 
wrist, when he gave a stifled cry, and turned quite 
livid. They looked at his sleeve, and made him take 
off his coat, and the whole of his arm was one raw 
wound from the shoulder to the wrist” 

“ Oh, Mrs. Shorthouse ! I shall faint ! ” cried Miss 
Harriet Press, hysterically. 

“It seems that he could not put on the sleeve- 
pieces of the armour, through not knowing how to 
rivet them, which accounts for it, I suppose. News 
was brought down that Miss Forde’s injuries were 
next to nothing, but, however, she was not allowed 
to go home that night. Her brother went home by 
himself, and he was to go up there this morning to 
hear how she is.” 

“I think the least we can do will be to call at 
Minstergate on our way home, to inquire for Miss 
Forde, Harriet,” said Miss Press. “Her brother 
would have felt her death excessively.” 

“I always thought Leonora Forde a designing 
girl,” remarked Mrs. Hancock, suddenly, “ and now 
I am quite sure of it,” and so had the narrative un- 
hinged her that she opened her tea-pot and absently 
stirred up the tea-leaves with a spoon, a proceeding 
watched with horror by the ladies round. 


the ides of march. 


“You don't surely think she set fire to herself on 
purpose ? ” panted Miss Harriet 

“ How do I know? It would be all of a piece,” 
was the snappish reply. . “It won’t be her fault if she 
isn't married. Men,” with a stony eye on her meek 
and rosy son, “men are taken in with that sort of 
person ; I'm not. It's my belief that she all along 
meant to catch this Major Westmorland, and that is 
what makes her so free and independent with her 
betters : " an angry flush on the matron’s cheek might 
have led a reader of character to guess that she had 
intended for Leo, if she had behaved herself, no less 
an honor than that of being her daughter-in-law. 
“Well ! It will be a fine stroke of business for the 
doctor if his sister makes such a brilliant match ; I 
only wish her husband joy of her, that’s all ! ” 

“ But the poor young doctor will miss her,” timidly 
suggested Miss Harriet. 

“ Pooh ! ” cried Mrs. Hancock, quite rudely. 

“I wonder,” said Mrs. Shorthouse, suddenly struck 
with an idea, “if the Fordes will be at the dinner- 
party on Wednesday.” 

“ Mark my words, they will ! ” said Mrs. Hancock, 
with fearful energy. “Sayers! Don't sit there blink- 
ing ! Take Miss Press's empty cup ! ” 

Her son, who had been pensively staring out into 
the garden through his gold-rimmed spectacles, 
started violently and went, in a knock-kneed and 
submissive manner, to do her bidding. 

“ Did not I tell you, the first day that young man 
arrived in Norchester, that I saw him alighting at the 
doctor’s door?” went on the lady. “I thought that 
very day of what was going on, and you see I was 
right.” 

“I — I have not heard that they are engaged yet, 
not positively engaged,” faintly put in Mrs. Short- 
house. “ Mr. Clarke did not say that.” 

“Perhaps you will hear it announced on Wednes- 
day,” suggested Miss Harriet. 

“It is as plain as the nose on my face,” said Mrs. 


THE IDES OF MARCH. 


134 

Hancock, with conviction. “The Saxons take no 
notice of the Fordes until the arrival of this young 
man : then at once they single them out. Mrs. 
Shorthouse and I, ourselves, saw young Westmorland 
introduce Leonora Forde to Tom Saxon, and any- 
body at Dufheld might see that he played tennis with 
nobody but her. Well ! some people are born with a 
silver spoon in their mouth. ” 

“Very true,” said Mr. Sayers Hancock, mourn- 
fully. 

There was food for a great deal more talk before 
the party separated. Such a complete anecdote 
rarely fell in their way, poor souls, and they made 
the most of it. Tom Saxon always said it was the 
family vocation to provide material for discussion in 
the neighbourhood, but even he little guessed how 
literally true this was. All other interests paled be- 
fore this new one. Even the vagaries at the palace 
were forgotten. The rumours that the bishop’s 
eldest daughter was to marry an actor, and that his 
eldest son was to become president of an agnostic 
association, were never so much as mentioned. 

They sat on and talked, warmed through and 
through with the gratifying consciousness that they 
and their friends were the only really respectable 
people in Norchester. 

“Well ! ” was Mrs. Hancock’s parting word when 
at last her visitors took leave ; “ if I had a daughter, 
she would have been very unlike Leonora Forde ! ” 

There was no questioning the entire probability of 
such a statement, it bore the stamp of truth. 

But when left alone with her son and heir, when 
she had re-arranged the tumbled antimacassars, and* 
pushed the rug straight with her foot, her first remark 
sounded to the startled young man strangely irrel- 
evant. 

“It has always been a marvel to me, Sayers, how 
it is that, living as you do in a gay place like 
Wokeford, you have never learned to play lawn 
tennis ! ” 


THE IDES OF MARCH. 


*35 

Mrs. Shorthouse, it being too late for the afternoon 
service at the cathedral, went her way up Minster- 
gate towards the Berlin wool-shop, with intent to 
have a chat with the excellent Miss Gibson who kept 
it, and to regale her with the prevailing sensation. 
To her disappointment, Miss Gibson was quite au fait 
in the whole affair, for Mrs. Saxon had sent down the 
groom on the pony that morning, for cotton for dress- 
ing burns. Indeed, she was able to supplement Mr. 
Clarkes version with one or two piquant particulars, 
such as that the Major owned to having had a bad 
night, and would be prevented from shooting that 
day, but that Miss Forde was quite well, and all the 
young ladies and gentlemen in merry spirits. 

“The young are always thoughtless, mum,'’ said 
Miss Gibson, ‘ ‘ and she so near her death too, pretty 
dear ! ” 

Returning from this visit, Mrs. Shorthouse was 
favoured with a real stroke of luck, for at the door of 
Dr. Forde’s stood the Hesselburgh brougham, and 
Richard just helping his sister to alight. 

There stood Leo, radiant and bright-eyed, nodding 
and smiling to the coachman in farewell. 

“ My dear,” said the canon’s wife, hurrying up, “I 
am very glad to see you so well after your terrible 
accident. ” 

4 ‘ Oh, have you heard about it ? How funny ! ” 
cried Leo, with a surprised laugh. 

“ But it scarcely comes under your heading of a 
“terrible accident,” Mrs. Shorthouse, I think,” said 
Dick, good-humouredly. “Leo’s dress caught fire, 
and was at once put out by the person nearest at the 
time, that's all ! ” 

“My dear Dr. Forde, I am shocked to hear you 
underrate the mercies of Providence in this way. 
What would have happened had Major Westmorland 
not been near, or had he not been equal fi} the oc- 
casion ? She would have burned to death ! ” 

“ My dear Mrs. Shorthouse, no girl could burn to 
death in a room full of sane men who all had free 


THE IDES OF MARCH 


136 

access to her. No doubt, Westmorland's promptness 
minimised the consequences, but I really think you 
exaggerate the danger." 

‘ ‘ Oh, well, ” said the lady, determined to be amiable 
“ you doctors always make so light of a thing ! But 
your sister no doubt feels what an escape she has 
had." 

“Almost a complete escape," replied Leo, with 
animation. “Just a few blisters and one tiny raw 
place on my shoulder ! Even less than Major West- 
morland, who has really hurt his wrist. Oh, and a 
good piece of my hair was burnt off, but Dick says it 
saved my neck. It was all hanging down, you 
know ! " 

“She can afford to lose a bit ! She is well sup- 
plied," said Dick, fondly. 

“And I suppose you are sorry to leave Hessel- 
burgh ? " said Mrs. Shorthouse, benignly. 

The future Mrs. Westmorland was worth concil- 
iating. She had heard her husband say there were 
fine livings in the Westmorland gift. 

‘ * Oh, very ! But I shall see them again to-morrow, " 
said Leo, brightly. 

“Oh, indeed!" replied her questioner, thinking of 
the marvellous astuteness of Mrs. Hancock. “And 
what did all you young folks do when you got to- 
gether ? " 

Leo’s foot was on the threshold. Dick was hurry- 
ing her in. A mischievous smile dimpled her pretty 
mouth. She knew quite well that every word she 
let fall would go to Mrs. Hancock. 

“What did we do?" cried she, “why, the very 
nicest thing I ever did in my life ! The Saxons often 
do it ! We all went and had tea in the kitchen / Good- 
bye, Mrs. Shorthouse J ” 


THE IDES OF MARCH. 


137 


CHAPTER XVI. 

THE MERRION FAMILY. 

Where children are not, heaven is not, and heaven if they come 
not again shall be never : 

But the face and the voice of a child are assurance of heaven and 
its promise for ever ! 

A. C. Swinburne. 

With a plantiveness born only of summer night and 
summer sea, the band at the end of the pier was sob- 
bing out the dying notes of a waltz. The sound 
floated in, lazily, like the scarcely-stirred air, through 
the windows of one of the large houses on the espla- 
nade. 

The occupants of the house had just done dining ; 
they were at dessert. 

The host leaned back in his chair and tasted his 
wine ; his wife rested her round white arms on the table- 
cloth, and tried, not very successfully, to peel some 
early walnuts ; their guest sat in a reverie, absently 
fingering the stem of his wine-glass. 

Outside, there sounded distinctly the patter of 
hurrying feet on the asphalte parade ; laughter and 
voices also were tossed in at the window in snatches ; 
the low murmur of the sea was soothingly audible. 
A silence had fallen on the trio. 

The band stopped. 

Frederic Merrion, the host, looked up. 

“ Will you come out on the pier, Bertha ?” he said. 
“I am not sure; I feel lazy, it is too hot,” she 
replied ; “you and Mr. Greville had better take your 
cigars. Til try the sofa and a novel. Is that a good 
prescription, Mr. Greville?” 

“My dear Mrs. Merrion, that entirely depends on 


THE IDES OF MATCH. 


« 3 « 

whose novel,” said her visitor, removing his double 
eyeglass. 

“Oh, I’m not cultured,” said she calmly, leaning 
back in her chair so as fully to show the beautiful 
curves of her figure. “I like an entertaining story, 
I hate all that uncomfortable stuff that Hope reads. 
You and she would agree admirably. 

Gilbert Greville did not reply at once. His hesita- 
tion was owing to a strange mixture of feeling. To 
the name just mentioned he had been laboriously 
trying to steer the talk all dinner-time. He had met 
Mr. and Mrs. Merrion just outside his hotel that 
afternoon, and had accepted their invitation to dinner 
solely in hopes of hearing that name. He had been 
forced to wait until dessert to hear it introduced ; now 
he wanted to prevent the conversation from glancing 
off, and yet not to show his own anxiety. 

“Are you accusing me of a partiality for un- 
comfortable stuff, Mrs. Merrion ! ” he said after a 
minute. 

“You know what I mean — George Meredith, and 
so on,” she said, vaguely. 

“Miss Merrion reads George Meredith?” — inter- 
rogatively. 

“ I have heard you talk to her about it,” she replied, 
decisively. , 

“Last year,” he said, and was silent. 

His mind was back in last year — last summer, 
when he had joined Hope and her brother and his 
wife in Switzerland. He was remembering the way 
that life had. seemed to enlarge for him after Hope’s 
appearance in it. He had made a great many resolu- 
tions since then. He would write a book, enter 
Parliament, raise the masses, do something to make 
his name honored and respected. None of these 
resolutions had been kept. He began to think they 
never would be, unless Hope herself came personally 
to assist. 

“We are starting for Switzerland next week, as I 
think I told you,” said Bertha, breaking into his 


THE IDES OF MARCH. 


139 

meditations. “We send the children, nurses and 
governesses, to Dalby Sands. ” 

“Does Miss Merrion join you?” asked Greville, 
hoping that his tone was natural. 

“ I wish she would,” said Hope’s brother; “but 
when once she is in Norshire, with those crazy friends 
of hers, there is no catching her again. They all seem 
to go mad together.” 

‘ ‘ Is she there now ? ” 

The guest was examining his spoon so narrowly as 
to make Mrs. Merrion glad she had brought her own 
plate down with her. 

“Yes, she is in some unheard-of spot in the middle 
of the moors, staying at a shooting-box with a de- 
tachment of the Saxon house-party. I have written 
to her to come with us, but I have not the least idea 
that my entreaties will be effectual.” 

“ Hope is more eccentric than ever,” said Bertha, 
absently, ‘ ‘ since the breaking of her engagement to 
Edgar Disney.” 

Greville’s heart gave a thump, and a slight shock 
passed through him. He had never heard of Miss 
Merrion’s brief engagement. Surprise and relief were 
almost simultaneous, but he thought it wisest not to 
expose all his ignorance. 

“ Oh, is that broken off ? ” he said, composedly. 

“Yes. Her doing. A pity, I thought, as my 
brother, Captain Merrion, considers him a thoroughly 
nice fellow,” said Frederick. 

Bertha laughed lazily. 

“ I suppose Hope thinks she may pick and choose, 
with her fortune,” she remarked. 

“ I think Miss Merrion would be certain of admira- 
tion, without her fortune,” was Greville’s opinion. 

A shadow came over his host’s face, and he 
shrugged his shoulders. 

“Nobody will have a fortune in a short time, if 
things go on as at present,” he said, snappishly. 
“ Nothing which pays more than two-and-a-half 
seems safe nowadays.” 


140 


THE IDES OF MATCH. 


“ Frederick has been terribly mean lately,” said his 
wife, tranquilly. * ‘ I find it so hard to get money out 
of him ; he says the rate of interest is so low. ” 

“Hard times, no doubt,” said Greville, with the 
amused indifference of a man who has never known 
the want of money, and thinks such complaints a 
mild kind of joke. 

Certainly Mrs. Frederick Merrion had not a poverty- 
stricken aspect. She looked very sumptuous alto- 
gether, as she sat at the head of her table, the soft 
radiance of clustered wax-lights falling upon her. 

“ Hope does not spend a tenth of her income, of 
course,” she said. 

“ All the better for her, later on,” said her husband, 
sharply. “I cannot think why you should make it 
your business to urge her to spend more. ” 

“ Gracious, Fred ! I don’t ! ” she replied, in very 
great astonishment at his unaccustomed tone. 

The pause which followed was interrupted by the 
entrance of a quiet ladylike girl in spectacles, who 
wore morning dress. She seemed a little out-of-place 
in the gilded drawing-room of the showy house 
which the Merrions had taken furnished for the 
season. 

“Come in, Miss Thorpe,” said Mrs. Merrion, “and 
have some fruit;” but she cast a reproving glance 
from the plain, blue-serge dress to the visitor. 

“Iam sorry, I must not wait,” said Miss Thorpe, 
in a gentle voice, coming up to the lady where she 
sat. “ I came to ask you to come upstairs and look 
at Guy, if you have time before you go out, for he 
seems quite poorly.” 

A look of annoyance passed over Mrs. Merrion’s 
handsome face. 

“It would have been better to wait,” she said, 
coolly. “Iam coming upstairs directly.” 

Without saying more, the young governess went 
out of the room as quietly as she had entered it. 

“What’s wrong?” asked Fred, to whose ear the 
soft tones had not penetrated. 


THE IDES OF MARCH. 


141 

“Guy has over-eaten himself again, apparently. 
It is astonishing how greedy that boy is ; but there 
was scarcely any need to come and announce it 
publicly. Miss Thorpe is prone to make too much 
fuss about the children. ” 

“ A good fault, isn’t it ? ” said Greville. 

“Yes, she is exceedingly trustworthy,” said his 
host, with decision. “Otherwise, I should not con- 
sent to this going away and leaving the children in 
her charge at Dalby Sands.” 

“Children are always better and happier in charge 
of their nurses and governesses than with their 
parents,” asserted Mrs. Merrion calmly; “they are 
so much less indulged. Guy is always seedy when 
away with us, because Fred will allow him to sit up 
so late and give him such unwholesome food.” 

The guest was too profoundly ignorant, perhaps 
also too indifferent on the subject of education, to 
question this assertion. He finished his coffee with 
a sense of having been very much bored by the con- 
versation all dinner-time, except the few remarks 
which related to Hope, and which had most certainly 
afforded him food for reflection. He decided to go 
out upon the pier with Mr. Merrion, hoping to find it 
easier to extract some information from the husband 
when relieved from the presence of the handsome, 
vapid wife who demanded so much attention. 

Accordingly, the two gentlemen sallied forth to- 
gether into the starry night, among the strolling 
throngs of people, and so to the pier, where still the 
sad notes of the German waltz were borne upon the 
brine-laden air. 

Greville was in a mood to-night to like stars and 
breaking waves, and sentimental band music. His 
thoughts were with Hope — this strange Hope who 
preferred scrambling about in Norshire to all the 
elegance of a tour on the continent and the best 
hotels ! 

She had been engaged, and had broken her engage- 
ment. Was it just dimly, wildly possible that the 


142 


THE IDES OF MATCH. 


thought of him, Gilbert Greville, remained with her 
and had influenced her ? The sweetness of such a 
train of thought was dangerous. He turned to his 
silent companion and began to question him, easily- 
leading round the conversation into the direction he 
desired. 

Fred Merrion was only too glad to talk of his sister 
to Greville. He wished Hope to marry, and to marry 
well. Greville was a thoroughly nice fellow, and a 
rich fellow into the bargain. Hopes brother was as 
communicative as her lover could wish. 

‘ ‘ Molyneux Lyster ! ” cried Greville, with a start, 
“ Why, I know him. That is, he is a relation of my 
family : but I thought his wife’s loss had turned his 
brain, and that he received no visitors. A shooting- 
party there ! Very good moor, too, so I hear, I have 
a great mind to invite myself. ” 

“Well, I don’t know that I should advise your 
doing that,” said Fred, doubtfully. “You see, he 
does not receive visitors, except these young Saxons ; 
you might not be welcome. Better come on the con- 
tinent with my sister, my wife, and me.” 

The prudent brother was by no means sure that 
what he called the “hoyden element ” in Hope would 
be approved by the well-bred Greville. He, himself, 
would have found none of his sympathies appealed 
to had he met Hope after her mushrooming expe- 
dition at Hesselburgh, for instance. Bertha never 
wanted to do anything in the least unconventional ; 
it would be better for Hope to be under her chaperon 
age when wooed by so eligible a suitor, not running 
wild in her old clothes, heated with tennis, muddy 
with exercise, or torn with climbing. 

There were two Hope Merrions ; the attractive 
heiress, who dressed irreproachably and kept her 
lovers at a distance, and the Hope beloved of Tom, 
who never stood upon her dignity. 

To the first of these only had Greville been intro- 
duced ; whether he suspected the existence of the 
latter, was a problem too hard for Fred to solve, 


THE IDES OF MARCH. I43 

“But is Miss Merrion coming to Switzerland with 
you ? ” said the inquirer, persistently. 

‘ * I have written to tell her she ought. ” 

‘ ‘ Ah ! will that prove an inducement, do you ex- 
pect ? ” 

Fred laughed. 

‘ 4 It may ; she is a very good girl at heart, though 
she is a little self-willed, but she was left an orphan 
so young.” 

Greville said little more. He had learned all that 
he was likely to learn from two people so little fitted 
to understand Hopes aims or motives. 

He said good-night soon, and sauntered back to his 
hotel, his thoughts lulled by the soothing murmur of 
the waves. 

“If I want to go and stay there,” he said to him- 
self, as he turned on the threshold for a last look at 
the night, “ the best thing I can do is to go without 
an invitation. ” 

Meanwhile, Bertha had slowly transported herself 
to the upper regions of the large house on the espla- 
nade. She looked into the schoolroom, but it was 
empty. The lamp burned beside Miss Thorpe’s 
vacant chair and full work-basket. The stout and 
languid beauty moved on into the boy’s bedroom. 
Here, in the darkest corner, Wilf was asleep, his curly 
head burrowed down among the sheets, his body 
twisted like a corkscrew. Opposite, a candle had 
been placed on the corner of the mantelpiece, and, 
by its light, the governess sat at Guy’s bedside, busy 
repairing some damage to the limbs of Adela’s doll. 

Guy himself lay on his back, with patiently wide- 
awake eyes, his arms raised over his head, and his 
gaze fixed upon the fantastic shadows cast by said 
arms upon the ceiling. 

The apparition of Mrs. Merrion, in full evening 
toilette in the night nurseries, was so unusual that 
the child started up in bed. 

“My stars ! There’s mamma ! ” he cried. 

“Lie down, Guy dear,” said his governess, gently. 


144 


THE IDES OF MARCH. 


“ Well, there does not seem to me to be much the 
matter with him, he is lively enough/' said Bertha, 
standing by the bed. 

“He is feverish, ” said Miss Thorpe, a trifle indig- 
nantly. 

His mother took his hand in one of hers. 

“Feverish! Not very,” she remarked, carelessly. 

“ Mamma, ’’said Guy, twisting over upon his elbow, 
“how old do you suppose Brian de Bois Guilbert 
was ? ” 

“ Bless me, Guy, don’t be so idiotic ! What have 
you been eating to-day ? ” 

“ He has had very simple food all day ; I took 
good care of that,” said Miss Thorpe. “But, after 
tea, he seemed so excited, I put him to bed.” 

“It was humbug, I didn’t want to go,” sighed the 
patient, restlessly. “ I shouldn’t have gone if I 
hadn’t been a Templar.” 

“What did you eat yesterday?” demanded his 
mother, not to be deterred by any attempt to force 
the conversation into other channels. 

“Oh, I don’t know; Wilf and me bought some 
bulls-eyes. I say, mamma, how much did your 
necklace cost? Did papa give it you?” 

“You know he did. I think, Miss Thorpe ” 

“ Well, didn’t he tell you how much it cost ? Was 
it as much as a thousand pounds? Do tell me, 
mamma.” 

“Be quiet, Guy; you will waken Wilf.” 

“Well, he’s not asleep really, he’s only foxing. 
But I do wish you’d tell me if Brian de Bois Guilbert 
was older than Ivanhoe. Because Wilf is such a 
young idiot, he says he wasn’t ; and as we are Tem- 
plars ” 

“Have you given him anything to throw him into 
a perspiration ?” asked Mrs. Merrion of her governess. 

“Yes, some sweet spirits of nitre.” 

“Is Aunt Hope’s necklace more valubler than yours, 
mamma?” 

“No, Guy, certainly not.” 


THE IDES OF MARCH . 


HS 

“ Well, couldn’t you lend yours to Adela when we 
play at Torquilstone, because she is Rowena? Miss 
Thorpe is Rebecca, ’cause she’s dark, and we’ve got 
a beautiful handkerchief for her head that Theresa’s 
brother in the Marines brought from Madras. Oh, I 
say, mamma, I am so beastly hot ! I really cant get 
to sleep ! ” 

“You will go to sleep directly if I take away the 
light and Miss Thorpe,” replied his mother, authori- 
tatively. ‘ ‘ Lie down now, and let us have no more 
nonsense. I expect you to be asleep in ten minutes. 
Good-night ! ” 

“Oh, I say, mamma, don’t leave me in the dark. 
My head is so full of thoughts to-night, I know I shall 
stay awake. If you will leave Miss Thorpe, I will 
promise, honour bright, to go to sleep — at least, I 
won’t say one more word.” 

“ Do you know that it’s past ten o’clock, Guy ? Be 
reasonable. If we go away, you will be asleep in a 
moment.” 

“That’s all you know about it. I shall wake up 
Wilf and talk to him if you leave me alone.” 

“If you do, I shall report you to your father,” said 
his mother, severely, as she took up the light. 

Guy burst into tears, rolling his flushed face over 
into the pillows to hide such disgrace. 

“You are unkind,” he sobbed. 

“ Don’t you see he is unwell? ” said Miss Thorpe, 
in an agitated whisper to Mrs. Merrion. “He is much 
too manly to cry unless he felt ill.” 

“ Rubbish ! He is spoilt ! ” was the somewhat 
angry answer. “You really make too much fuss of 
him, Miss Thorpe.” 

She carried away the candle, and Miss Thorpe 
followed her into the passage. 

“ I think Guy ought to see a doctor,” said the girl, 
in a low voice, but firmly. “He is very far from 
well.” 

“Do you think he is sickening for something ? Oh, 
nonsense,” said Bertha, yawning. “He is always 

io 


146 


THE IDES OF MATCH. 


pretending to be ill. He is such a cunning child. 
Keep him on plain food to-morrow, and he will be 
all right. He is the sort of boy it is fatal to make a 
fuss with.” 

“I assure you, Mrs. Merrion, he is not pretend- 
ing ” 

“My dear Miss Thorpe, when I think the doctor 
necessary, I will send for him.” 

She walked off, her silken robes rustling down the 
staircase, and Mabel Thorpe looked after her, with 
an expression in her eyes very like contempt. 

“And you are a mother !” she murmured to her- 
self, with a shrug of her thin shoulders. 

A stifled sob from the bedroom smote her ear. 
She crept in, knelt down by the bed, took the slight 
form of the boy in her arms, and softly kissed his 
wet face. 

“Oh, you will stay here, won’t you?” pleaded 
the Templar. 

“ My brave boy knows I can’t, if mamma says no. 
Now, you are going to show what a good Knight 
Templar you are, by obeying an order you don’t 
like.” 

“Mamma isn’t the Grand Master; you are.” 

“Yes, and I tell you to be brave, and to obey. I 
know you will. I will give you a drink of this milk 
and soda, and then you will go off to sleep.” 

“Darling Miss Thorpe, you and Aunt Hope are 
the two nicest people in the world. I wish Aunt 
Hope was here ! ” 

“So do I,” thought Mabel, with a sigh, “for I 
know he ought to see a doctor.” 


THE IDES OF MARCH. 


147 


CHAPTER XVII. 

FORLORN HOPE. 

God’s in His heaven ! 

All’s right with the world ! 

R. Browning. 

The sunniest peace brooded over the old fruit- 
garden at Leaming-le-Moor — the Pleasaunce, as they 
called it. 

Its mellow red walls seemed to radiate heat and 
to smell of sunshine, as Leo Forde remarked. 

Over the tops of them could be seen the boughs 
of the orchard, heavy with ripening fruit. This 
part of the garden had been Muriel’s idea of perfect 
bliss ever since she could remember. It was 
separated from the flower-garden and tennis-lawns 
by an intricate labyrinth of shabby, painted doors 
in high walls, by a profusion of hot-houses, an un- 
tidy accumulation of green-houses, and a wilder- 
ness of strawberry-beds, peas, scarlet-runners, celery- 
trenches, and potatoes. 

The particular piece of ground in question was 
open to every sunbeam, sheltered from every un- 
kind blast. It was carpeted with immemorial turf, 
mossy and golden. From the great shady lime in 
the corner still hung the old swing, put up in nursery 
days for Tom and his sister. There was the summer- 
house where they had consumed so many straw- 
berries of their own gathering ; there the fruit-trees 
which they had planted, the borders which they had 
cultivated with wooden spades. It had been an 
outdoor nursery for them. 

The air was sweet with scents of the old-fashioned 


THE IDES OF MATCH. 


148 

flowers which bloomed around — the monthly roses 
on the summer-house, the wall-flowers, mignonette, 
southernwood, and sweet-briar, and, along the sun- 
niest wall, the bed of violets which, except in the 
depth of winter, was scarcely ever searched in vain. 
From the only side of this charmed spot where the 
outer world was not excluded by red walls was to be 
seen the loveliest view attainable in the neighbour- 
hood. The village rose upon a tolerably steep hill, 
and at the top, picturesquely set off by clumps of 
trees, the steeple of the church soared into misty air. 
Farther off, the purple moors rolled into the distance, 
and melted into the purple horizon. 

Muriel was taking advantage of this glorious spell 
of weather to sketch her impression of this scene in 
water-colours. Leo, with less ability, but more zeal, 
was laboriously following her example. Hope, who 
could not sketch at all, was curled up on the turf, 
half-shaded by a red umbrella, deep in a very delight- 
ful novel, and almost oblivious of their surround- 
ings. 

The three graces, as Mollie had named them, were 
left to their own devices for the day, it being impos- 
sible for them to take lunch to the sportsmen, as the 
cart was gone to the station, twelve miles distant, to 
fetch Richard Forde, and the carriage-horses were on 
loan to the vicar and his wife, to enable them to 
spend a day in the town. The girls were, if any- 
thing rather pleased with a few hours’ quiet, so rife 
with picnics and junketings had the last few days 
been. 

Nothing could be more idyllic than life at Learning. 
The glorious free air of the moorland seemed to act 
upon them all like a charm. Evelyn Westmorland 
had apparently laid aside his moroseness ; he was 
no longer monosyllabic and chilling. Whether it 
really was the air, or whether the little adventure of 
the tableaux vivants had broken down some barrier, 
or whether the absence of his father released him 
from a strain, or whether his newly-formed resolution 


THE IDES OF MARCH. 


149 

towards matrimony had softened him — who shall 
say ? 

The result was evident, whatever the cause. When 
Mr. Lyster invited Leo to join the party to the moors, 
Evelyn had resolved to go too, and had been so 
strangely gentle and obliging that several times Tom 
had remarked to Hope that he was really afraid 
something was wrong with the old Major. Hope 
had little share in the change. They were able to 
pair off more freely at Learning than had been pos- 
sible at Hesselburgh, and Evelyn was always Leo's 
cavalier, while Hope and Tom were together as of 
yore. 

Leo took considerable pleasure in this arrangement 
— firstly, because she was very young, and felt all 
the importance of being noticed by Major Westmor- 
land ; secondly, because, when at first he had so 
pointedly neglected her, she had determined to make 
him notice her, and so enjoyed her triumph ; thirdly, 
because it was great fun to hear this silent person 
laugh, as he was most prone to do, at her nonsense ; 
and lastly, with a lurking thought in her mind of Mr. 
Sayers Hancock and the Norchester tea-parties. How 
far away they all seemed now ! No wonder that 
poor Leo's head was a trifle turned — that she was 
almost out of her depth. Her promotion had been 
so very rapid. 

Mr. Saxon had sent them all to Learning on his 
drag, and when that drag had dashed down Minster- 
gate in the morning sunshine, Tom Saxon holding 
the reins, with Miss Merrion at his side, Mr. Lyster 
beaming, with Miss Saxon behind, and a place re- 
served for her by the Major, it was impossible to 
avoid feeling somewhat, however little, “ tete montee” 

Life's realities had ceased to exist for her, just now. 
She was living in a dream. 

Her excitement made her restless. Before very 
long, her brush was thrown down on the mossy turf 
at her feet, and she was stretching out her graceful 
young limbs with a sigh of weariness. 


THE IDES OF MARCH. 


150 

“What is the use of trying?” she said, despond- 
ingly. “ I can’t do it as you can, Muriel ! ” for the 
three girls now used each other’s Christian names. 
“ How pretty that is ! Your spire stands out so 
well ! ” 

“So would yours, if you sponged your sky a little.” 

“ It is all dry,” said Leo, with an impatient shake, 
“ as dry as the dean’s sermons ! ” 

Hope, from her nest in the turf, laughed faintly, 
and looked up. 

“Take a lesson from Muriel,” said she, contem- 
plating that young lady’s industry. “ Patience on a 
monument ! ” 

“It is always a work of much difficulty,” remarked 
Muriel, peaceably, “to induce me to begin anything, 
but when I do begin, I always finish, if I can.” 

Hope sat up, and clasped her hands round her 
knees. 

“An excellent maxim,” said she. “Now, I am all 
beginnings and no endings. But that is a profitless 
theme for discussion. What now, Leo ? ” 

Leo was collecting her painting materials, with 
the somewhat inefficient aid of Prim, a nervous fox 
terrier, who always felt himself expected to take a 
very prominent part in whatever might be going for- 
ward. 

“ I think I shall go and practice on the organ at 
church for an hour,” said she. 

“ Will Billy be there to blow ? ” 

‘ * I told him yesterday that I should very likely be 
coming this afternoon.” 

“ Suppose I come, in case he shouldn’t turn up ? ” 

“It would be very kind of you,” said Leo, grate- 
fully. 

“ I should like a walk,” said Hope, closing her 
book. ‘ ‘ My hero and heroine have started on their 
wedding journey, and become utterly uninteresting. 
It is extraordinary how wild my interest becomes 
just before the climax, and how completely it col- 
lapses afterwards ! ” 


THE IDES OF MATCH. 


15 * 

“So does mine,” agreed Leo. “ But, if you and I 
start off, we shall leave Muriel alone.” 

“ I am more than content, thank you. I shall go 
steadily on at this, as long as the light lasts. In fact, 
I shall be rather glad to be rid of you both. Be off ! ” 

After a little more delay, they presently started. 
No change in their costume was necessary ; to meet a 
stranger in the dusty winding lane that led past the 
church to the moor would have been almost as as- 
tonishing as to encounter one rambling in the walled 
Pleasaunce. Learning was as solitary as it was 
sunny and sleepy. 

“Is it not pleasant,” said Hope, dreamily, “to be 
here ? Such rest — such ease ! Nobody here is pre- 
tending to be richer, or cleverer, or nobler than they 
really are ; there is no bustle, no struggle to keep 
pace with the times, or with one’s social rival in the 
next street. It is such peace ! ” 

“ If you will not mind my saying so,” said Leo, in 
her frank way, “it seems rather surprising, somehow, 
to hear you speak of peace and rest as you do. I 
don’t feel as if I quite sympathised. I like life and 
action, plenty of it. I was brought up at Sandwater 
— such a dull place ! Everything seemed to creep 
along, and I hated it ! What you call rest sounds to 
me like stagnation.” 

“I daresay you are right, Leo,” answered Hope, 
after a minute’s reflection. ‘ ‘ I believe it is an affecta- 
tion on my part to talk so. I dislike stagnation as 
much as you do. But I suppose there are times in 
one’s life when one is glad to rest, when one grows 
weary ! ” 

“I like this nice sleepy place, very much,” con- 
tinued Leo, “I feel the charm of it. But, when I 
come to question myself honestly, I know quite well 
that it is the people, this nice house-party, which 
makes up the charm for me. If I were here all alone, 
or with Mrs. Hancock, for instance, I know I should 
be very — oh, extremely dull, however purple the 
moors might be, ” 


152 


THE IDES OF MARCH. 


“To question yourself honestly ! ” repeated Hope, 
following up her own train of thought. “I have 
often done, or tried to do that, but have I ever given 
myself an honest answer ? I think that is the 
difficulty ! ” 

She spoke more to herself than to the girl beside 
her ; and the latter neither understood nor replied. 

“ I think I have been spoilt, all my life, Leo,” 
resumed Hope, after a little silence, “for, do you 
know, I never knew till lately what it is like to feel 
so totally, deeply dissatisfied with myself.” 

“Ought one to feel so? ” asked Leo, wonderingly. 

“ I don’t know. If you know yourself thoroughly, 

I suppose yourself ought never to come upon you as 
a surprise,” was Hope’s somewhat involved theory. 
“But I think I have never known myself at all, or 
thought of life as I ought to think of it. I should like 
to be of use to somebody before I die.” 

“I should think,” timidly suggested Leo, “that, if 
you go wrong at all, it is by thinking too much, and 
not too little. 

Hope laughed out merrily and suddenly. 

“lama goose,” said she; “thank you for stop- 
ping me, you charitable person ! If there is one 
characteristic that I despise more than another, it is 
a tendency to bewail one’s own deficiencies aloud. 
And really,” she concluded, panting a little with the 
steepness of the ascent, ‘ ‘ if we ever reach the top of 
this hill, we shall have nothing left to wish for.” 

They went on in silence for a time, all their energies 
needed by the climb. 

Once they stopped for a rest, and leaned over a 
gateway gazing into a clover-field. 

A lark shot up, almost from their feet, sailed aloft 
into the radiant air, and sang as English larks will 
sing, “for joy o’ the summer sun.” 

“ How different this side of the hill is from the 
other ! ” said Hope. ‘ ‘ This warm, cultivated south 
slope, and just over the brow is the frowning, treach- 
erous, desolate moor 1 ” 


THE IDES OF MARCH. 


*53 

“ How dreadful it looked the other day, with that 
rainstorm driving over it,” chimed in Leo. “ It was 
so strange to stand, as we did, in a gleam of sunshine, 
and watch the black clouds burst upon the heath in 
torrents. ” 

“It was like my life,” asserted Hope, who was 
evidently not to be withheld from moralising to-day, 
even With the strongest resolution to the contrary. 
“ I stand smiling in the sunshine, and thinking that 
all the world is enjoying it too. But it is only just a 
gleam, just a gleam that shines on a few of us. That ! ” 
with a dramatic gesture of her expressive hand, “ that 
is the world ! that dark, lonely, tempestuous moor, 
where the clouds hang so low that they hide each 
other’s faces from us ! Oh, that moor ! It is terrible ! 
I don’t want to think of it ! ” 

She hid her face. 

Leo was very much mystified. Her idea of Hope, 
so far, had been that she was gayest of the gay : 
Tom’s willing coadjutor in any nonsense that might 
be suggested. To understand was impossible, but 
to sympathise came most naturally to her quick 
feelings. She bent towards her companion, put her 
arm round her waist, and kissed her softly. 

“You dear little thing,” said Hope, impulsively. 
“I do hope you will be happy. You, at last, have 
nothing to regret ! But I have ! I made a terrible 
mistake once. I thought it was over and done with, 
and that I had, so to speak, put everything to rights 
again, and freed myself. But, do you know, Leo, I 
seem not to be able to get rid of it. Something is 
always happening, quite unexpectedly, to bring it all 
back so vividly ; it was so at Hesselburgh, it is so 
again, here. I was the cause of a great wrong being 
done, the most unintentional cause, but still the cause. 
Sometimes I feel as if the weight was too heavy to 
bear, because — because that wrong can never be 
righted now. Never, never ! It is too late ! ” She 
was sobbing as she spoke. “Think what it would 
be, Leo, to stand up for a while in the sunshine, and 


154 


THE IDES OF MARCH 


hope and believe that it would last : and then to have 
to wander away far out into that bleak moor, into 
cold, poisonous fens and lonely valleys of rocks, in 
darkness, misery, and clouds. Into the land not 
inhabited, the desert, the awful loneliness ; to be 
quite alone, and for no one to understand. And to 
die there, silent and unknown, with nobody to hear 
your bitter cry. Can you imagine anything more 
terrible ? ” 

There was a little silence, and then Leo said, very 
shyly, 

“That was what Christ suffered, was it not? ” and 
then, receiving no answer, went on, hesitatingly, ‘ ‘ I 
remember hearing my uncle say, in one of his 
sermons, that it was the awful loneliness which made 
the worst part of the human agony of Jesus. -r-‘/ 
have trodden the wine-press alone , and of the people 
there was none with Me.’ — You see, nobody could 
possibly sympathise with Him, because nobody else 
knew what sin was, or could know it- — — ” 

“Go on,” said Hope, feverishly, as the young voice 
faltered. 

“ — And my uncle said,” slowly proceeded Leo, thus 
encouraged, “that it is that very loneliness which 
He endured that makes Him so able to sympathise 
with us ; and you know, Hope, it goes on in that 
same chapter to say : 4 So He was their Saviour : in 
all their affliction He was afflicted , and the Angel of His 
Presence saved them..'” 

“What chapter is it?” asked Hope, in a subdued 
voice. 

“The sixty-third of Isaiah. I remember that ser- 
mon so well, because the text was an odd one ; and 
you quoted it just now, ‘A land not inhabited.’ 
About the poor scapegoat, you know. ” 

‘ ‘ The scapegoat ! ” 

“Yes ; you remember they sent it away alone into 
the desert.” 

“I remember,” said Hope, resting her elbows on 
the gate, and her chin in her hands, ‘ ‘ I never thought 


THE IDES OF MARCH 


*55 

of it like that before. Is your uncle a very good man ? ” 

“Yes, he is. He said, too, that loneliness is, if 
you come to think of it, the worst of all sorrows : and 
moral loneliness worse than bodily.” 

“I wish I had heard the sermon,” said Hope. 

“I can't repeat it at all well,” said Leo, humbly, 
“and I think there was a great deal of it which I did 
not take in, because, you see, I have never had many 
troubles of my own. But I know he said that Christ 
died that no human soul might ever be left alone 
again : and so they called Him Emmanuel — ‘ God 
with us. ’ ” 

The solemn young voice died away in the calm of the 
golden afternoon. Exhausted with his own rapture, 
the lark dropped down to his meadow nest, and his 
song was hushed. So still was everything, that the 
girls could hear the baby breeze that whispered in the 
hedgerows. 

“God with us,” repeated Hope. “How strange 
it is that one may hear some texts for years and years, 
and never find any particular meaning in them ; then 
it comes to you all of a sudden. Leo, you have done 
me good.” 

“I am so glad,” said Leo, warmly. “I was so 
afraid you would think it unnatural, or canting, to 
quote a text. ” 

“ I shouldn’t like it if you were always doing it, it 
would lose its effect,” said Hope, smiling, though her 
lashes were wet; “but you knew the right time to 
say it ; and, oh! Leo,” lifting her eyes to the blue 
depths above, “ God does seem very near just now.” 

Both girls were silent, and perhaps some imperfect, 
faltering petition went up through the peaceful air 
from their hearts to the Infinite Love which brooded 
over them. 

When they resumed their road, no word was spoken 
to break the holy spell, until they stood on the hill- 
top by the little grey lych-gate of the old Norman 
church. 


156 


THE IDES OF MARCH. 


CHAPTER XVIII. 

A LONELY GRAVE. 

Strew on her roses — roses, 

With never a spray of yew. 

In quiet she reposes, 

Ah ! would that I did too ! 

Matthew Arnold. 

Here Prim, who had accompanied them on their 
walk, ran forward, with delighted yelpings, and as 
they lifted the latch, darted into the churchyard, and 
could be heard giving a vociferous welcome to some 
friend hidden by the angle of the church wall. 

A moment more, and Major Westmorland came 
into view, walking towards them bareheaded in the 
sunshine that flooded the summit of the hill. 

Hopes first feeling was of vexation ; her eyelids 
were red. Her next, of consolation ; red or green 
the Major would never notice them. 

Evelyn looked very handsome and erect and manly 
as he met them. 

“ How did you get here?” cried Leo, shaking off 
her solemnity as lightly as she might have done a 
drop of rain. “ Have you not been shooting?” 

“ Yes — until an hour ago, then I remembered that 
you were to be practising this afternoon and, I thought 
I would be in readiness in case your blower failed.” 

“ How very kind ! ” cried the girl, with a fine blush. 
“ But did Billy not come ? ” 

“ He is not here,” returned the Major, looking round 
him with a guilty air which convinced Hope that Billy 
had duly attended, and been bribed to make himself 
scarce. 

The thought caused her a strange consternation. 


THE IDES OF MARCH. 


*5 7 

Several ideas rushed across her mind almost simulta- 
neously. The Major was in love with Leo. It had 
before been obvious that he admired her, and sought 
her society, but in some vague way she felt that this 
last move looked like business. Evelyn’s determined 
face was more determined than usual. Then, if these 
things were so, she, Hope, was most lamentably de 
trop. For a moment she felt undecided. 

“Hope was so very kind as to come with me in 
case Billy was not forthcoming,” said Leo, as they 
strolled up the path. 

“It is scarcely lady’s work,” said the Major. 

“I gladlyresign my task to abler hands,” said 
Hope, with a gaiety she could not quite feel. “I 
shall stroll home again, I think.” 

“Oh, Hope! then you will have had all this hot 
walk for nothing.” 

“Oh, no, Leo! not for nothing,” was the answer, 
with a sweet smile which was considerably tinged 
with the shadow of their late solemnity. “ Indeed, I 
have liked it — it has done me good. ” 

They stood by the porch, the three of them. On 
the worn stone bench within lay the Major’s cap and 
gun. Through the closed wire doors the colours of 
the east window showed in subdued tones. Had the 
Major not been there, Hope would have liked to go 
and kneel in the dusky coolness, and ease her pres- 
ent sense of inadequacy and failure. It was a new 
thing in her, this humility, this longing to pray. As 
it was, she had to smile, and nod, and say lightly. 

“I will say good-bye now. I suppose you will 
both be back in time for dinner.” 

“I will take care of her,” said Evelyn, with a 
downward glance at the white-robed Leo. 

“I shall take a few minutes’ rest before starting,” 
went on Hope, her eyes turning involuntarily to the 
unbroken purple sweep of moor lying now at her feet. 
“ Go in and play, Leo. I will stay outside and listen. ” 

“ Have you ever tried organ-blowing ? ” asked Leo 
of her tall companion. 


THE IDES OF MARCH. 


I 5 8 

He shook his head doubtfully. 

“ My experience is not large,” he smilingly an- 
swered. “So much I candidly confess.” 

“I will tell you a funny little story,” said she, 
leaning against the porch. “My uncle at Sandwater 
had a blower who was blind, and a lady in the parish 
said to this blind man that she thought it very won- 
derful that he should never let the wind out, as he 
could not see the indicator. ‘Well, you see, miss/ 
he replied, ‘ I come of a very musical family. ’ ” 

The Major’s rare laugh sounded pleasantly. 

Hope sat down silently in the porch, and Leo 
laid upon her lap the bouquet of honeysuckle she had 
gathered in the hedges. 

“Will you carry it for me?” she said; “they will 
die before I can put them in water.” 

The two entered the church, and Hope heard the 
little clatter attendant on the opening of the organ, 
and the seating of the performer. 

The organ was a present to the church from 
Mollie, at Muriel's instigation, on the occasion of his 
fiftieth birthday. 

Its tone was sweet and mellow, and to day sounded 
strangely stirring to Hope. For some minutes she 
leaned back motionless, the sunshine gilding her loose 
hair and white dress, and gleaming through the leaves 
and flowers in her hand. She did not know that, as 
she so sat, she was visible to the blower standing at 
his post, nor that his gaze was fixed upon her, 
whether he would or not. 

“O rest in the Lord,” prayed Leo, with tender 
sweetness. Hope could fit in the words to the well- 
known strain, and followed the melody as it flowed 
on. 

“Commit Thy way unto Him, and trust in Him : 
and He shall give thee thy heart’s desire — and He shall 
give thee thy heart’s desire. ” 

A golden mist swam in her eyes, and blotted out 
the scene. Hastily she rose, and left the porch, but 
not the churchyard, With tears, which now she could 


THE IDES OF MARCH. 


*$9 

not repress, she walked on, among the graves, pass- 
ing indifferently all those on the warm southern slope 
of the hill, and not pausing till she reached the bleaker 
northern half of the burying-ground. 

Here she dashed away the drops which prevented 
her from seeing clearly, and looked searchingly 
around. 

The aspect of the moor to-day was gentle, sunny, 
and beguiling, basking in the broad light of the un- 
clouded sky. Lonely it still was, and must ever be, 
but there was now a beauty in its very loneliness — a 
majesty which seemed to consecrate these obscure 
graves, and lift them up, away from the everyday 
world into a Sabbath of boundless rest. 

A white marble cross caught her eye, and she went 
straight up to it, cast one look, and knelt beside it. 

To the beloved Memory of 
Nellie Wetherell, 
who entered into rest May ist, 18 — , 

Aged 23. 

Hope almost started when she read the words 
carved beneath : for they were those which Leo had 
repeated as they leaned over the gate. 

“I11 all their affliction, He was afflicted and the 
Angel of His Presence saved them/' 

The organ pealed out tenderly yet triumphantly, 
and it seemed to Hope as if a voice sang in its strains : 

“And he shall gi — ive thee thy heart's desire ! " 

Flinging her arms impulsively about the cross, 
Hope wept as in all her life she had not wept before. 

“Oh, Nellie ! Nellie !” she gasped aloud to the 
sleeping girl under the turf, “I am glad you are at 
rest, dear, — I would not call you back. Oh, Nellie, 
I am so glad God has given you your heart's desire, 
and that I need not think of you any more with that 
look in your eyes, that stricken look that was so ter- 
rible to see ! But oh, Nellie, if you could come back 
just for an instant, and tell him ! Just speak one word 


1 60 the ides of march. 

to tell him that he misjudges me, and that I did right, 
as well as I could ! It is so hard — so hard to be mis- 
judged ! He is patient and kind to every one else — 
only harsh to me ! Nellie, I can sympathise with 
you ; I know what you had to bear ! The bitter 
trouble that ate your heart out and that nobody must 
know .... I wonder if you can hear me, in Para- 
dise, and feel for me, now that you are so happy ? 
Oh, help me, I am so lonely, I feel as if I could not 
bear it ! ” 

The broken voice died away : only the kneeling 
girl still clung to the cross, shaking it with the storm 
of her sobs. 

The organ notes sank away softly into silence, and, 
after a few minutes’ pause, there pealed out the “ March 
of the Silver Trumpets.” Gradually Hope’s emotion 
subsided ; her ebullition of feeling was over, yet she 
did not move, but after a while she sank down into 
a sitting position, her head against the marble, and 
still, as if exhausted. 

The chiming of the clock roused her at last, and 
taking up Leo’s bunch of honeysuckle, she wove it 
into a little wreath which she hung upon the cross, 
and then kissed the letters of the name. 

“Good-bye, Nellie,” she whispered. 

She was glad she had been there ; it comforted her. 
She could feel now that this girl’s sufferings had been 
short, if sharp, and that God had indeed given her 
her heart’s desire when He laid her to sleep upon the 
hillside. And the words carved upon her grave 
seemed to show that she had rightly understood her 
trouble, and, going through the vale of misery, had 
used it for a well. 

She walked quietly home in the dusk, the evening 
wind fanning her hot face and swollen lids, and a 
strange peace resting upon her soul. She felt and 
knew that such peace could not last ; she was almost 
sure that the course of a few days would bring a new 
pain : the engagement of Major Westmorland to Leo 
Forde. But, for to-night, such thoughts were to be 


THE IDES OF MATCH. 161 

done away, and she would remain folded close, as it 
seemed, in the comforting arms of nature, in the 
beauty and consecration of the summer sunset. 

The wheel marks on the gravel sweeps of the Manor 
House gave token that Richard Forde had arrived. 
In the hall was a group still lingering around the gipsy 
tea-table. The dogs set up a chorus of welcome as 
she entered, and, as heads were turned, she saw that 
there were two new arrivals. 

There were Tom and Mollie, dishevelled and fatigued 
in their shooting gear ; the young doctor, fresh and 
neat in his summer travelling suit, sitting by Muriel 
and “engineering the spirit-kettle," as Tom said; and 
there was some one else, who rose as she entered, 
with a look almost of agitation in his usually calm 
eyes ; some one whom she expected to see as little as 
any one on earth at that moment. Mr. Greville, their 
pleasant travelling companion of last summer. 

“Well," she cried, after an astonished little pause, 
coming forward and laying down her parasol. 

“Did you not expect to see me?" asked Forde, 
shaking hands. 

“You? Yes! But " 

“I must introduce you, Hope, my dear; a cousin 
of mine who is most kindly and unexpectedly going 
to give us the pleasure of his company. " 

“There is no need of an introduction, dear Mollie. 
I know Mr. Greville." 

“ Dear me ! Well, to be sure ! How small the 
world is ! " cried Mollie, genially. “This makes 
your visit still more opportune, Greville ! Really 
most pleasant ! But quite a coincidence, is it not, to 
meet in this exceedingly remote spot." 

“ It is unexceptionally good fortune for me," replied 
Greville, looking at Hope. 

He thought her a little altered since last year : a 
shade thinner, a shade paler, with less mischief and 
more soul in her expression. The indescribable charm 
of her personality was stronger than ever. Her en- 
gagement, he imagined, had perhaps caused her some 
ii 


i 62 


THE IDES OF MARCH 


keen pain, or regret ; but it had not broken either her 
heart or her spirit. He thought he had never looked 
upon so attractive a being. 

Hope, meanwhile, was wondering to herself whether 
or not she was glad to see him ; and was quite unable 
to give herself an answer. She had liked him, last year, 
well enough to think of him several times after their 
parting, until the novelty and excitement of her voyage 
to Ceylon drove him clean out of her happy, thought- 
less head. 

She had indeed changed, since then ; learned to 
think so much more gravely of the admiration she 
had been wont to accept so carelessly and lightly. 

“ Nice of you two," observed Muriel, placidly, “ to 
go off and leave me to make tea for all this multi- 
tude ! Where is Leo ? ” 

“ I left her playing the organ,” said Hope, sinking 
into a chair, and laying down her gloves on a table 
near ; and, after a momentary hesitation, added, 
“ Major Westmorland is blowing for her.” 

“Oh ! ” said Muriel, with a sudden wide opening 
of her big blue eyes ; and Tom cried, as might have 
been expected : 

“ That was what made the old Major take himself 
off so early, was it ? ” 

There was a little pause ; everybody seemed to be 
digesting a new idea. Richard Forde rose, and went 
to the open door to see if the missing couple were in 
sight. 

“They will be too late for tea,” remarked Mollie, 
as he handed Hope hers. 

‘ ‘ This is a magnificent country, Mr. Lyster, ” said 
Richard, when his survey proved vain. 

“Surprisingly so,” said Greville, turning to Mollie. 
“Had I had any idea of its beauty, I am afraid I 
should have burned to make my cousin’s acquaint- 
ance long ago.” 

“ I am so overjoyed,” said Mollie, “that your first 
visit should be so opportune. I am terribly dull, ex- 
cept when any young people are with me.” 


TkE IDES OF MARCH. 


163 

“You are certainly not dull now,” said Greville, 
with a pleasant smile of much satisfaction at the 
party of good-looking young people around him. 

The spell of Leaming-le-Moor had already fallen on 
the newcomer. He felt an indescribable happiness 
and peace stealing over him, as the garden scents 
reeked in through the purple twilight, the larchwoods 
hung motionless in the still air, and Tom and the 
dogs kept up an undertone of joyous romping on the 
leopard-skins that carpeted the hall. 

“ Come, dear/’ said Muriel, putting her arm through 
Mollie's, “come and get your buttonhole/' 

This was a daily function when Muriel was at 
Learning ; every morning and every evening was the 
delighted Mollie provided with a fresh flower for his 
coat. She herself was always obliged to throw away 
the dead one when presenting the next ; nothing would 
have induced him to discard a blossom of her giving, 
and the servants said that, when she went away, he 
always wore the last one until it dropped from his 
buttonhole. 

Richard looked longingly at the two, as they passed 
out of the hall, and Muriel took pity on him. 

“Come, you shall have one, too," said she; so 
they went together. 

“Shall I get you one, duckie? ” asked Tom, rolling 
two of the puppies into Hope's lap. 

“Marshal Niels, please, Tom; and one for Mr. 
Greville, too." 

She smiled as Tom went off. 

“ Evening dress is quite a function here," she said. 
“Mr. Lyster has a weakness for seeing his ladies in 
full ‘toilette.' Miss Saxon and I brought almost 
every evening gown we had, and he examines each 
new one with fresh delight." 

“ I am glad you prepared me — I shall expect to be 
quite taken off my feet," said Greville, amused. 
“Your friend, Miss Saxon, is charming, and they 
tell me Miss Forde is also handsome." 

“Yes, very.” 


THE IDES OF MARCH. 


164 

“It is a sort of enchanted castle of beauty. You 
will be sorry to leave it.” 

“Yes, very.” 

After a moment’s hesitation, 

“ I was at Eastbourne last week, and dined with 
your people,” he said, — •“ Mr. and Mrs. Merrion.” 

He had decided that he must tell her this, as she 
would very likely hear it from either her brother or 
his wife, and wonder at his concealing it. 

“ Oh !” she said, after a little pause, “ they start for 
Switzerland to-morrow, I believe.” 

“ Yes. Your brother told me he was very anxious 
for you to accompany them, but I imagine you have 
decided against it.” 

“ Certainly ! Am I not wise? Leave this delight- 
ful place for noisy tables-d'hote, hot hotels, mobs of 
people whom I do not care to see ? No, indeed ! I 
shall stay here as long as ever I can.” 

“ My sympathies are entirely with you,” he replied > 
cordially ; “ one feels the charm of this place at once 
on arriving.” 

“ You don’t know half its attractions until you have 
dreamed away a morning in the Pleasaunce, or ridden 
over the moors at a gallop,” she answered, smiling. 
“ There is a wonderful fascination about it all.” 

“ There is,” said Greville ; but he was careful not 
to put too much feeling into his voice. 

“ Fred and Bertha were quite well, I conclude?” 
was her next remark. 

“ They seemed so, though I think your brother 
seemed a little overworked — worried by business.” 

“ He is apt to be like that,.” replied Hope absently. 

She did not press the matter further, but she knew, 
from a certain consciousness in Greville’s manner, that 
he had heard she was staying at Learning, and had 
come there to see her. 

Was she glad, or sorry ? 


THE IDES OF MARCH. 


165 


CHAPTER XIX. 

THE MAJOR COMMITS HIMSELF. 


I mistook my own heart, and that slip 
Was fatal. 


E. B. Browning. 


The beautiful afterglow, so much admired by those 
in the great hall at Learning, was equally appreciated 
by Leo as she came out of the church and waited a 
moment while her attendant squire locked the great 
door behind them. 

“ How beautiful ! ” she sighed, with a tender, trans- 
figured look in her large eyes ; and then again, raptu- 
rously, “ How beautiful 1 ” 

“It is,” replied the Major, as he came and stood 
beside her. 

The peacefulness of the distant hills beyond, and 
the quiet graves at their feet, seemed emblematic of 
the peace which he felt sure would come upon him 
now that he had made up his mind to obey his father, 
and marry — if he could. 

“ It is late ! We must hurry home,” said Leo. 

“ Must we ? I want to linger,” replied he. 

“ We shall be late for dinner,” urged the lady. 

“ Will that distress you ? ” inquired the gentleman. 

Leo hesitated, reddened, and at last said, candidly, 

“ I am afraid Dick will think I should not be out 
so late.” 

“ I will make it right with Dick,” said Evelyn, as 
he unfastened the lych-gate and let her through ; and, 
as they began to walk down the hill together, he asked, 
in a low tone, “ It is not because you dislike being 
with me ? ” 

“ No — oh, no ! ” 


1 66 


THE IDES OF MARCH \ 

How could she? Was he not part, and the chief 
part, of her present extraordinary happiness? Had 
there not come upon her suddenly a crowd of those 
delights which she had been accustomed to think 
of as existing only in the pages of novels? Had 
she not found that, in real life, people enjoyed them- 
selves, were pretty, were admired, visited at country- 
houses, and were favoured with fine weather ? Had 
she not carried lunch to the guns, driven in a four-in- 
hand, and done several other things which girls in books 
so often did ? It seemed only natural that, to all this, 
the culminating point should come : that, like the 
heroines of fiction, she should have a lover too ! And 
yet she was uneasy — vaguely conscious of a discom- 
fort for which she could find no name. 

They walked for two or three minutes in a silence 
which, she instinctively felt, must be broken through. 

“Dick will have arrived by now,” she said in a 
voice striving to sound natural. 

“ Shall you be very glad to see him ? ” 

With a little, unsteady laugh, she answered : 

“You will think me very unnatural, but I shall not 
be quite as glad as usual, because it means — his com- 
ing — that my time here is drawing to an end. He 
cannot stay longer than a week at the outside, he 
says ; and, when he goes back, I shall go with him. ” 

“You will be sorry to leave this place ? ” 

“ How can you ask me? Very, very sorry 1” 

“ And these people ? ” 

“ Yes,” softly. 

“Miss Forde,” said the bashful Major, in a voice 
which seemed to come from his boots, “ shall you be 
sorry to leave me A ” 

Had Leo been one shade less agitated and nervous 
she must have laughed ; as it was, she knew not 
what to say, for the question was pointed by Evelyn's 
standing stock-still in the lane, and facing her. 

“You — have always been very kind to me,” she 
brought out at last. 

“I think,” he answered, thoughtfully, “that I 


THE IDES OF MARCH 


I 67 

should not find it difficult to be kind to you — always. ” 

Absolutely no answer was possible to this ; she 
could but wait. 

“ Will you let me try ? ” he asked, after a moments 
thrilling pause. 

“Try?” echoed Leo, faintly, her knees knocking 
together. 

“I don’t know whether I ought to ask it,” stam- 
mered the soldier, with shaking voice. “It seems 
so much — so much. I want you to promise to be 
with me — always : to be my . . . my wife. Will 
you ? ” 

The steep lane, the green hedges, the glowing stars 
set in purple sky above, were rocking and reeling 
round the girl. She put out her hands to steady her- 
self, and Evelyn took them in his own. 

“Wait — -wait — don’t answer — don’t distress your- 
self.” 

His words seemed to come to her from a long way 
off, a roaring as of waves was in her ears. The soft 
little evening breeze blew" tenderly over her face, and 
gradually the mists cleared away. She looked up 
into his eyes. 

“ You — said ? ” she whispered. 

“I asked you to be my — in short, I offered myself 
to you,” he answered. Why did that word “wife” 
seem to stick in his throat ? 

“ To me ! ” she repeated. 

* * 1 have never said such words to any other woman, ” 
he said, speaking more manfully, now that the plunge 
was over. “I know I am a terribly unsatisfactory 
wooer — my nature is deficient in sentiment — in power 
of expression. I am a commonplace, hum-drum 
fellow, and perhaps I have no right to — to anything 
so young and bright as you. But, if you will trust 
me, I will try to take great care of you. If I can, I 
will make you happy. Will you say something to 
me?” 

‘ ‘ What must I say ? ” 

‘ ‘ What you feel — only that ” 


1 68 


THE IDES OF MARCH 


“ 1 — I — love you ! ” half sobbed the excited child, 
totally unconscious that he had made to her no sim- 
ilar declaration. 

The flood-gates of her romantic girlish feeling were 
open. Had Evelyn caught her to his heart, and 
showered kisses upon her, it would have seemed right 
and natural, she would have understood and re- 
sponded. 

Nothing was further from her suitor’s thoughts 
than such a line of conduct ; he felt no impulse to 
do anything of the kind. He thanked her, gently and 
humbly, for the honour she had done him, and it 
seemed to Leo as if, just as she reached the door of 
Paradise, it had been closed in her face. An indefi- 
nable sense of want and loss crept over her, agitating 
her already overstrung nerves to the breaking-down 
point. 

This moment, to which in girlish dreams she 
had looked forward — which she had imagined would 
be the crowning-point of her life — had it disappointed 
her ? Like the other experiences of her short career, 
it had come upon her so unexpectedly, so suddenly. 
And it was not what she had fancied. 

She burst into tears. 

This roused all his masculine tenderness and 
sympathy. As a lover, he must be deficient, because 
he was acting a part ; as a consoler, he followed the 
natural impulse of his soft heart, and success was the 
result. 

He made her sit down by the roadside, on a hillock 
and sat down beside her, close beside her. He put 
his strong arm round her, held her hand, and begged 
her pardon for being so rough, so sudden. Could she 
not forgive him ? Finally, after a long hesitation, he 
stooped, and kissed her rainy eyelids. 

Sunshine came again. Leo was ashamed of having 
been so foolish. Was it likely that a grand, noble 
dignified creature like Major Westmorland could 
descend to demonstrations of affection, like ordinary 
beings ! 


THE IDES OF MARCH 


169 


She was quite distressed at her folly. 

“Do you feel well enough to walk home?” he 
asked at last. 

“Oh, yes !” She rose, and smiled at him. “I — 
I don’t know what Dick will say,” she faltered, with 
burning blushes. 

“You must leave me to tell Dick. And there is 
some one else to be told, who will be more overjoyed 
than anyone — my father.” 

“ Oh, will he be pleased? Are you sure ? Will he 
not think me much too insignificant for you ? ” 

“ He loves you ; I happen to know it. He will be 
devoted to you. You have no father, and he no 
daughter. You must be great friends.” 

It was altogether too much to be believed. Was it 
really she, Leone Forde, lately emancipated from the 
schoolroom at Sandwater vicarage, but a few weeks 
ago patronised by the town ladies of Norchester ? 
Was she to be the mistress of Feverell Chase, and to 
be received with wide open arms by the fastidious 
Mr. Westmorland himself? 

Enid, when Prince Geraint took her from her 
culinary labours and rode with her to court, scarcely 
experienced a more sudden turn of fortune’s wheel. 

As Hope stood by her open bedroom window, 
slowly beginning to dress for dinner, the door opened 
and Muriel peeped in. 

“ May I come in for a moment ?” 

“Yes, of course.” 

Muriel approached the window, which overlooked 
the gravel sweep at the front of the house. 

‘ ‘ Those two are not in yet, ” she remarked. 

“No,” returned Hope, busy over the arrangement 
of some lace on her gown. 

After a considerable interval Miss Saxon remarked. 

“You ought not to have left them, Hope.” 

“Well!” cried Hope, in tones of great amuse- 
ment. “I like that! I am not so fond of playing 
gooseberry, thank you. I was so evidently not 
wanted.” 


170 


THE IDES OF MARCH. 


“Leo is very young,” replied Muriel, equably, 
“ and I rather feel as if you and I were responsible 
for her. Mater didn’t quite like her being asked, you 
know.” 

Hope did not answer. 

“And I am afraid she might perhaps get her head 
turned by the Major’s going about with her ; you see 
she can’t know that he only does it to avoid us.” 

“You quite mistake the whole position of affairs,” 
replied Hope, slowly. “ Major Westmorland is going 
to propose to Leo Forde.” 

“ Oh, nonsense, Hope ! ” 

“You are quite free to call it so, if you please. 
Events will be my vindication.” 

“Here they come,” said Muriel, suddenly, and 
remained, rooted to the window, watching. 

It was too dark to see their faces. Evelyn let Leo 
through the gate, closed it, and came to her side. 
They passed very slowly up the path together, and 
Leo paused at one of the rose-trees, gathered a rose, 
and gave it to her companion. He took it and 
thanked her, apparently with much earnestness, and 
so, still talking, disappeared under the portico, and 
after an interval of silence, Leo’s feet were heard 
flying along the corridor in the direction of her room. 

“Well?” said Hope, who also had gone to the 
window. 

“It is certainly very suspicious,” acknowledged 
Muriel. 

“ Major Westmorland would never trifle with any 
woman, of that I am quite sure,” said Hope in a low 
voice. 

“ I am of the same opinion ; but it is too absurd, 
too incongruous, the idea of a man like him, and a 
man who always set his face against matrimony, 
wanting to marry Leo ! ” 

“ Why is it absurd ? ” 

“I don’t know of any reason I could put into 
words ; but the idea of a marriage between those two 
is, to me, utterly incongruous.” 


THE IDES OF MARCH 


171 

Hope was silent. 

“ I suppose,” observed Muriel, presently, “that he 
is marrying to please his father. ” 

“What malce his father so anxious for him to marry, 
Muriel ? ” 

“ Afraid of the family becoming extinct, I suppose. 
I believe they are the only two living representatives 
of the name.” 

“Dear me! How many disagreeable duties are 
entailed upon the owners of property ! ” sighed 
Hope. 

“ Such as marriage ? ” 

“ Such as marriage.” 

“It’s a duty a good many people seem to find 
pleasant,” remarked Muriel, dreamily. 

“Yes, because they do it of their own accord ; that 
is quite another thing. It is only if you have to do 
a thing that it becomes irksome.” 

“I daresay,” said Muriel. 

After a few more remarks, she departed, and Hope 
remained in the gloaming, standing by the window, 
without ringing for lights or her maid, though it 
wanted but twenty minutes to dinner-time. 

The girl’s proud eyes gazed out far away into the 
misty distance. At last she spoke — aloud. 

“Yes,” she said, “I am glad Gilbert Greville has 
come.” 


THE IDES OF MARCH 


192 


CHAPTER XX. 

THE MAJOR BURNS HIS SHIPS. 

This is a heart, the queen leant on. 

Thrilled in a moment erratic. 

Ere the true bosom she bent on 
Meet for love’s regal dalmatic ! 

O, what a moment ecstatic 
Was the poor heart’s, ere the wanderer went on, 

Love to be saved for it, proffered to, spent on ! 

R. Browning. 

Scarcely had her maid put the hasty finishing touches 
to Hopes attire, when there was a hurried rap on the 
door, and Leo ran in, her face scarlet, her eyes 
shining. 

“ Oh, Hope ! May I speak to you ? ” 

“ Most certainly. You may go, Bowen.” 

The maid departed, and Hope turned to her visitor. 

“What is it, dear?” she asked, feeling suddenly 
much older than Leo, and as if her own youth lay 
wholly in the past. 

Her visitor snatched up a hand-glass, and surveyed 
her scarlet cheeks. 

“Oh, Hope, just look at my face! I am afraid to 
go downstairs.” 

Hope lightly touched the hot face with her own 
cool fingers. 

“You are hot,” she said ; “you came in late, and 
were hurried ; but it will soon go off. ” 

“ Hope,” cried Leo, catching her by the waist, 
“ listen, dear ; I must speak to you. Sit down here 
by me on the sofa. I want to tell you something — 
you will listen, won’t you ? ” 

“Yes, I will listen,” answered Hope, rather faintly. 

They sat down on the little sofa together — a lovely 


THE IDES OF MARCH. 


*73 

picture, in the candlelight — the doctor’s young sister, 
her youth, bloom, and style giving an air to the in- 
expensive white muslin she wore ; and the London 
beauty, her bewitching little face and figure done full 
justice to by perfect hair-dressing, and the magical 
make of her yellow silken gown. 

Leo was silent for a little, and then broke into 
laughter — laughter that was almost hysterical. 

“It seems so strange — in a way, so ridiculous,” 
she said, gasping a little. “ Hope, did any one ever 
ask you to marry him? But, of course, I feel sure 
somebody must have asked you.” 

‘ ‘ Three people have asked me, Leo. ” 

“Three! Oh, how can people live through such 
things ! What did you say to them ? ” 

“I said no the first two times. One wanted my 
money, and the other should not have dared to ask me ; 
he deserved a setting-down, and he got it. The 
third time I said yes.” 

“You did? Then you have been engaged? 
Oh ... ! ” with a long intonation of surprise, “then 
you broke it off? ” 

“Yes. I found I had made a mistake. He was 
splendid to look at, but he was not good — not true. 

I was to blame ; I accepted him too soon, before I 
knew him well enough. It was the most miserable 
time of my life, Leo, and I want to forget it fortu- 
nately it did not last long : three months after I saw 
him first, it was all over between us.” 

Leo surveyed her with curious interest. Then her 
whole face changed. Winding her arms round her, 
she hid her face against her neck. 

“Hope,” she whispered, trembling exceedingly, 
“ do you think Major Westmorland is good? ” 

There was an eloquent silence in the room. Re- 
sentment sprang up hot and high in Hope Merrion’s 
heart ; her breath came fast. Could she not have 
her revenge on her enemy, if she chose, by poisoning 
Leo’s mind against him ? It was only an idle thought, 
it did not assume the magnitude of a temptation. 


174 


THE IDES OF MARCH. 


She would not be like him, unjust, blind to the merits 
of an adversary : he had condemned her unheard, 
but that could not make her ungenerous. 

“ Yes, Leo/’ she said softly, at last, “ I believe he 
is good — very good ; but stern — stern to himself and 
others. He makes no allowances ; he is pitilessly 
just.” 

“He said — he said,” gasped out Leo, “that he 
would be always kind to me.” 

After another pause, Hope said, and her voice 
would sound strained in spite of her, 

“Has he told you he loves you, Leo?” 

A scarcely audible assent. 

“And you,” proceeded Hope, “do you love him ? ” 

“Oh, how can you ask? It is more worship than 
love that I feel ! So high, and great, and stately — so 
much beyond any one I ever saw or heard of. Com- 
pare him with the men in Norchester — with, the 
Minster clergy. He is almost like a person from 
another planet. I — reverence him. ” 

A thought of Marion Erie crossed Hope's brain, and 
was indignantly repulsed. She hardly knew what to 
say to this outburst. 

At last — 

“Well it must be very beautiful, ” she said, quietly, 
“to be in love with a good man ; there must be such 
a feeling of rest about it — of peace after wild storms. ” 
She broke off with a laugh. * ‘ There ! I am drivel- 
ling again,” she cried, “about rest, as if, at my time 
of life, I ought to dream of having deserved it ! ” 

“And you feel, I suppose,” she resumed, in a 
minute or two, “ no fear at the idea of having to be 
with him all your life? He is such a companion, 
such a comrade to you ; you are so utterly in sym- 
pathy with him. You feel that you were created to 
supply all his needs — that you are the stray half of 
him, which God sent him into the world to find ” 

Leo sat up, with wide eyes. 

“Oh, I don’t feel like that!” she said, abruptly; 
but what more she would have said was drowned in 


THE IDES OF MARCH. 175 

the clatter of the great bell. “Oh, Hope, Hope! 
that is the bell ! What must I do? How can I sit 
through dinner and look natural, if nobody knows ? ” 

“Far more easily, I should think, than you could 
if everybody knew. ” 

“Do you think so ? Well, perhaps — yes. But you 
will come into the drawing-room with me, will you 
not ? ” 

“Certainly, if you wish it. Come, we must make 
haste. ” 

Every one was of course assembled, and the eyes 
of every one were on the door as the two girls entered. 
Leo was very easily able to cover her confusion by 
running forward to meet her brother, whom she had 
not yet seen. 

The Major, who was seated on the music-stool, let 
his eyes travel from his youn g fiancee to Miss Merrions 
advancing figure. How that girl varied ! It was she 
who had sat, with a little cotton frock and straw hat, 
just within the church porch that afternoon, with a 
bunch of wild-flowers on her knee. Now he beheld 
a stately figure in primrose yellow silk, heavy and 
rich, with a train half across the floor. The small 
face wore a haughty look, the mien was all dignity. 
She softened into a smile as her glance met Greville s, 
and subsided into a chair beside him. 

“ Come Hope, come Hope, my dear,” cried Mollie, 
“Dinner waits! Come, Murie, come everybody! 
The gentlemen are such a drug in the market that the 
ladies must go in together.” 

Leo scarcely spoke all dinner-time. She found 
heself between Mollie and Mr. Greville, and the latter 
thought her the most difficult girl to talk with that he 
had ever met. Hope, just opposite him, was bril- 
liance itself. She seemed to have the art of giving a 
subtle expression and point to the most trivial thing 
she uttered. Greville was a good talker when lie 
chose — had been to many places, and talked with 
men of various nations. Hope and he so succeeded 
in gaining the interest of the table as to take off all 


THE IDES OF MARCH. 


1 76 

attention from the guilty couple, whose painful self* 
consciousness gradually subsided. 

The gentlemen did not remain in the dining-room 
after the ladies had quitted it, but took their cigars 
out into the warm gloom of the garden. 

Muriel ordered the coffee to be carried out and 
placed on a basket-table under the tulip-tree on the 
gravel. A hanging-lamp was fastened to a bough 
by Tom, and so still was the night, that it burned 
steadily as in a room. The three girls wrapped 
themselves up in effective cloaks, and coffee out of 
doors was voted a complete success. 

“ How few nights an English summer grants us in 
which to play such tricks ? ” said Greville. 

“The result is,” said Hope, “to make the few 
times in our lives when we can do it, stand out clear 
and sharp in the memory.” 

Evelyn was sitting next her, and he stirred 
uneasily. 

“I wonder if to-night will be memorable for any- 
thing in particular,” said Tom, meditatively. “ Sup- 
pose, for example, the house was to be burnt 
down ” 

“Tom!” 

“ — Ever afterwards, when one of us said to an- 
other, ‘ Do you remember that still night on which 
we had coffee under the trees at Learning ? 9 the 
memory of the flames would rush to our minds, and 
a strange hush would fall on that merry throng. ” 

“ It would be a strange hush indeed, if it fell on 
any assembly where you were present, Thomas,” 
said Mollie, genially. 

“Ah, you jest! But you just give me a chance 
to save your family plate, and see if you are not my 
debtor for life ? ” 

“The family plate might go, Tom, if you saved 
the girls.” 

“Plenty of you to save the girls among you,” said 
Tom, scornfully. “You would all be rushing after 
the girls, and meanwhile I should secure the plate- 


THE IDES OF MARCH. 


177 

baskets. But there ! it won’t happen. No fellow gets 
a chance of being a hero nowadays.” 

“No, we are in a prosaic age,” said Greville, 
lightly. “I think we men sometimes seriously re- 
gret it ; we should like a few more chances to win our 
spurs — to be able to give a proof to our lady-love that 
our strong right arm was really a protection from 
danger. There are very few men I fancy, nowa- 
days, who have ever had the chance to strike a blow 
to protect their lady, and on the whole I think it is a 
pity.” 

“Should you rank physical courage so high?” 
asked Muriel. “I have an idea that it would not 
take much of a hero to knock down anybody who 
interfered with his property. ” 

“It’s the fashion to decry muscle, I know, Miss 
Saxon ; blit I believe a good deal of dross would be 
cleared away, and a good deal of fine gold discovered, 
if it were possible to prove who could fight like a 
man for the protection of the weak.” 

“A good many of these drawing-room chaps with 
the gift of the gab would go to the wall, I daresay,” 
remarked Tom. 

“ I do believe the utter cessation of all chance to 
prove oneself the better man is largely responsible 
for the decay of chivalry in our age,” said Richard 
Forde. 

“ The duel killed it,” replied Greville, thoughtfully. 
“So utterly despicable a form of settlement was of 
course bound to come to an end.” 

“You recommend fists, then ?” said Tom, clench- 
ing a formidable one. 

“ No, he would like to leap into the lion’s den after 
his lady's glove,” mischievously suggested Hope. 

“I should think he would do as the knight in the 
poem did, then, and fling the glove in her face,” said 
Tom, in a pugnacious way. “Oh, you needn’t fly 
out, duckie ; I know your beloved Browning tries to 
make out that the knight was wrong, and the lady 
was right ; but, through the slight drawback of being 
12 


THE IDES OF MARCH. 


178 

unintelligible, he has failed to make most people see 
the point ” 

“ He has done nothing of the kind, Tom ! ” cried 
Hope, as ready for battle as Tom himself could desire. 
“Has anybody else, here present, read Browning’s 
poem of the glove ? ” 

Muriel had ; and, after an instant’s pause, Major 
Westmorland also admitted that he knew it. 

“ I should like to hear what he says about it,” said 
Greville. ‘ ‘ Myself, I have always considered there 
was one flaw in the story. Instead of throwing the 
glove in her face, I should have restored it, with the 
most profound and elegant bow ; and never spoken 
to her again.” 

“And what had she done?” cried Hope; “only 
the one thing that no woman may do in this world — 
taken a man at his word ! She threw the glove as a 
test ! For weeks the courtier had been sighing at her 
feet, imploring her to set him some task — something 
hard, dangerous, difficult beyond belief. What was 
there he would not do for her sake ? Poor girl ! She 
believed him.” 

“ Is that Browning’s idea? ” said Greville, thought- 
fully. 

“ Bless you, no ! His is about a theorbo,” said 
Tom. 

“Tom, how can you be so silly ? ” 

“ What is a theorbo ? ” asked Tom, blandly, of the 
company. 

“A musical instrument of some kind,” said the 
Major’s deep, unwilling voice. 

* ‘ I always thought it was Browningesque for 
glove ; somebody dropped it, I know,” said Tom, 
with an injured voice. 

“ I suppose,” said Greville, following his own train 
of thought, ‘ ‘ that Browning wanted to show the great 
importance of motive ; this lady had done what, in 
the eyes of the world, was a most cold-blooded un- 
natural thing ; but, when you learn her motive, the 
whole aspect of the case is altered : the heroic knight 


THE IDES OF MATCH. 


179 

becomes a braggart, who promised more than he 
ever meant to perform, and the lady takes the place 
of the injured person.” 

For her life, Hope could not have helped looking 
at Major Westmorland. He happened to be seated 
next her, and, though his eyes were in deep shadow, 
she felt that they rested upon her. 

He made a movement she had never seen him 
make before : a slight, scarcely noticeable action : he 
passed his hand over his forehead, as if wearily, or in 
perplexity. The powerful hand fell again upon his 
knee — listlessly. 

“ I have always felt what you say about motive, 
very strongly,” said Mollie, in his gentle way. “ One 
ought to be so very shy of pronouncing on other 
people’s actions until we know all the circumstances.” 

“The world would be a happier place if that rule 
were followed,” said Hope, very gravely. 

“This is getting very solemn,” said Tom, frisking 
up. “Quite like a sermon — ‘Finally, dear brethren, 
let us go down to the Pleasaunce, and see if we can 
hear the Rushing Ghyl. ’ ” 

“A good thought, Tom! We ought to hear it 
splendidly to-night,” said Mollie, “ what wind there 
is, sets just in the right direction.” 

“What is the Rushing Ghyl?” asked Leo, con- 
triving to speak at last. 

“Ah! little girl! Are you there?” said her 
brother, kindly. “Come to me! I haven’t heard 
the sound of your voice all the evening.” 

‘ ‘ Rushing Ghyl is the great fall at the top of Lim- 
merdale,” explained Tom. “It is some miles off 
from here, but it was I who first discovered that you 
can hear it in the Pleasaunce when the wind is due 
west. ” 

“Some peculiarity in the nature of an echo, I ex- 
pect,” said Mollie. “For you can only hear it in 
that one place.” 

“Come along,” cried Tom, flashing his lantern on 
them all. 


jgo THE IDES OF MA CRH. 

Dick carried his little sister along with him ; Gilbert 
Greville found himself beside Muriel. By some inad- 
vertency, Hope and the Major were left to bring up 
the rear together. It was the first time such a thing 
had happened since they came to Learning. She 
could not exactly detach herself from him, for, without 
the light of his matches, she must have fallen over 
shrubs and flower-beds in the thick gloom. She 
picked her way in silence. 

“ You don’t intend to speak to me I” he burst out 
presently, to her utter amazement. 

“Nothing of the kind/’ she answered, at once 
determined to be natural in spite of her unaccountably 
disturbed feelings; “but I was wondering if you 
would think me presumptuous if I wished you joy ? 
I suppose congratulations are premature, until Mr. 
Forde has been consulted ; but Leo has told me of — 
of her happiness, and I should like to tell you that I 
think you are a fortunate man. ” 

He was utterly silent. She gave him time ; they 
stumbled on in the dark for several long moments, 
but not a word was forthcoming. 

“ Really, ” said Hope at last, “I think such a polite 
speech deserves the courtesy of a reply. Come ! 
Here and now, by virtue of your own great happiness, 
try to be a little forgiving ; can you be hard and bitter, 
on such a night as this, so full of stars ? ” 

They had emerged from the gloom of the trees, 
and by the faint light she could just see his stern, 
frozen face. A great longing possessed her, at least 
to be at peace with him — not to bear always about 
with her the disapproval of his severe eyes. Very 
timidly she put out a little warm hand and wrist 
from the folds of her silken cloak. 

“Won’t you shake hands?” she said, beseech- 
ingly. 

With any other man on earth she would never 
have doubted of success ; with him, she feared, she 
wavered. Perhaps that very wavering turned the 
scale against her. Slowly, deliberately, as if he 


THE IDES OF MARCH. 


181 

wished to emphasize the action, Evelyn put both his 
hands behind him. 

She stood erect, motionless, flushing hotly in the 
starlight, unable to realise the pain she was enduring. 
The glove had been thrown in her face. 

Degraded, ashamed in her own eyes, without a 
word passing between them, she turned away, moving 
slowly, with uncertain steps, wondering whether it 
could really have happened that she, Hope Merrion, 
with all her pride, all her resolution, should have 
fnade an advance towards reconciliation, and been 
met with insult, and rebuff. 

It had all happened in a moment, she did not see 
what became of him — whether or not he followed her. 
It seemed as if that scorching blush were burned into 
her cheeks. 

u The blow a glove gives is but weak; 

Does the mark still disfigure my cheek ? 

But, when the heart suffers a blow, 

Will the pain pass so soon, do you know?” 

Westmorland stood, as she left him, watching the 
Slight figure cross the turf, pause a moment by the 
old sun-dial as if for support, and then stray on again, 
towards the ivy archway. He saw Greville’s trim 
form and white expanse of shirt-front appear in the 
archway, and heard his voice saying, 

“Miss Merrion ! I came to hasten you ! Rushing 
Ghyl is distinctly audible — the effect is most weird ! 
It seems as though a flood were roaring down upon 
us from the hills ! ” 

The listener stood until these two had disappeared 
into the shadows, and then dropped his face into his 
hands. 

“That’s over! It’s over now! Thank God!" 
were his strange words. 

Then, collecting himself, he repaired to the Pleas- 
aunce by another path ; for was he not betrothed, 
and was not his betrothed awaiting him there ? 

“Take my arm, Miss Merrion," said Greville, in 


182 


THE IDES OF MARCH 


his pleasant way, “ or you may stumble in this dark- 
ness.” 

Hope was really glad of the support, though she 
was able to summon a little laugh, and declare she 
felt like the ever-lovely Miss Beverley. 

“Do you know, I am thinking over that story of 
the glove,” said her cavalier, seriously, “and I am 
inclined to think that this Browning, whom you 
defend so ably, was right. Perhaps, however, I am 
always rather prone to believe in a woman, as against 
a man.” 

“Are you?” she said, turning to him with a 
warmth, an interest, she had never shown him before. 
“It is refreshing to meet a man who believes in 
woman. Oh, a woman will do anything for a man 
who believes in her ! She will never disappoint him, 
she is bound, by all the strongest reasons that women 
know, to be in reality all that he thinks her ... I 
beg your pardon for being so vehement, but you 
remember how eager I always am on any point 
where I feel strongly.” 

“I remember,” he answered, gently, though again 
he wisely did not throw too much intention into his 
expressive voice. 

They had reached the Pleasaunce, where the others 
stood, and, after a murmur of greeting, all subsided 
into a rapt stillness, harkening to the distant roar of 
the great waterfall, which rose and fell on the ear as 
though some huge door were opened and shut at 
irregular intervals. In the pause, Hope could collect 
her shattered nerves and summon her fortitude. She 
could breathe and think — could live over again in 
fancy that hateful moment of her humiliation, and • 
dig her nails into her little hands, her teeth into her 
lip, as she recalled it. 

It must be war to the knife now : no more pretence 
at a truce. And only this evening she had told Leo 
that she thought him good ! He was more than hard, 
he was vindictive— vindictive and unmanly. What a 


THE IDES OF MATCH. 183 

fate would be that of such a man’s wife, if she hap- 
pened to offend him ! 

But perhaps he, even he, had another side to his 
nature — “to show a woman, when he loved her.” 
Did he love Leo ? 

Hope dared to raise her eyes and look across the 
grass to where they stood, side by side. They were 
not speaking. There was nothing in their action 
from which to learn anything. Only she felt as Muriel 
had felt, without being able to say why, that there 
was something incongruous in the idea of their mar- 
riage. 

“ We will ride to Rushing Ghyl to-morrow — you 
shall all see it,” Mollie’s cheerful voice was heard 
saying. 

“ Hark ! What was that ? ” said Muriel, suddenly. 

They listened. Somebody was shouting, far off, and 
indistinctly, calling some name repeatedly though all 
that could be heard sounded like “Or — or — or ! ” 

“Is it Tom’s fire?” asked Richard Forde. 

The voice approached. It will be remembered 
that the Pleasaunce, to which these eccentric people 
had all betaken themselves, was at the extreme end 
of the large, old-fashioned, rambling garden. At last 
a name could be distinguished. 

“Mr. Lyster, sir ! Are you there? Dr. Forde, sir ! 
Are you there ? ” 

“ It’s Burrows,” said Mollie, in a mystified way, as 
Tom sent back an answering whoop. ‘ ‘ What can 
possibly be the matter ? ” 

Burrows was the fat and elderly butler. In another 
minute or two, a light glimmered behind the pea- 
sticks, and he emerged into view, a lighted carriage- 
lamp in one hand, a silver salver in the other. 

“Bless me!” said Mollie, peering through his 
spectacles. 

Burrows was breathless and agitated. 

“ It’s a telegraft, sir,” he panted, “a telegraft for 
the doctor. I thought he must see it at once, while 
the messenger got a bit of supper. ” 


THE IDES OF MATCH. 


184 

Owing to the remote nature of the place — the port- 
erage was five shillings — telegrams were rare in the 
experience of this archaic retainer. There was a 
general laugh of relief, as Richard took up the orange 
envelope. 

‘ ‘ One of my patients kicking over the traces, I 
expect,” said he. “Sorry, Leo.’ 

He opened it, held it near his eyes, but was obliged 
to call for Tom’s lantern to assist his sight. It was 
an odd scene, stamped in Hope’s memory always : 
the little group of expectant people, the tossing light, 
which 

“ Struck up into the trees, and laid 
Upon their under leaves unwonted light, 

And, when he held it low, how far it spread, 

O’er velvet pansies, slumbering in their bed.” 

“Why,” cried Dick, in a surprised voice, with a 
pleased laugh, “ here’s an absurd thing ! ’Twill 
shorten our visit here, though, Leo, I'm afraid ! 
Westmorland, this will interest you. Only think ! 
Disney has arrived ! He is awaiting us at Minster- 
gate ! ” 


CHAPTER XXI. 

don’t you like hope ? 

There’s a secret in his breast 
Which will never let him rest. 

Matthew Arnold. 

“I don’t think, ’’said Richard, in a bewildered way, 
“that I was ever so surprised in all my life, and Tm 
not easily surprised. Say it again, Westmorland, 
that I may be assured of the normal use of my 
faculties. I am under no hallucination ! You really. 


THE IDES OF MATCH. 185 

seriously, tell me that you want to marry my little 
Leo?” 

“That's so,” said the Major, poking baby ferns 
ruthlessly out of the clefts of the wall with his 
stick. 

“Well!" said Richard again, removing his after- 
breakfast cigar from his mouth, and staring up into 
the blue sky above him, “I repeat, I am so amazed 
that I don't know what to say ! " 

“May I ask,” said Evelyn, stiffly, “what is so 
very surprising ? when I told you, a few weeks ago, 
that I was set against the idea of marrying, you told 
me that you considered me, for that very reason, a 
promising candidate for matrimony. ” 

“True,” said Forde, more gravely. “I said so, 
and I was right : it is not your wanting to marry that 
bowls me over so completely ; it’s your wanting to 
marry my sister ! ” 

■ * Is that so very hard to understand ? ” asked Leo’s 
grim suitor. 

“It’s a novelty to me, you see,” said the doctor, 
with a sigh. “She is young. I hoped to have kept 
her with me for a year or two, at least. It will make 
such a difference ; you don't know how she bright- 
ened my life 1 ” 

“ She is very bright ” 

“Then,” Dick interrupted, “there is the other 
aspect of the case. I am not such a fool as to 
imagine that my sister is a match for you, West- 
morland. Two thousand pounds when she comes of 
age is the extent of her dowry, and in point of posi- 
tion, why- ■" 

“ Nothing of that kind is of the least consequence,” 
hurriedly said Evelyn. “ It is a poor compliment to 
Miss Forde, but you know my father is so desirous 
of my marriage that he would welcome almost any 
wife I chose to present to him. He admires your 
sister immensely, and I fancy his only feeling will be 
intense surprise that she could care about such an 
uninteresting person as myself,” 


1 86 


THE IDES OF MARCH. 


Dick looked narrowly at the speaker. 

“You must remember, ” said he, “that, in my 
interview with your father, he showed none of this 
anxiety for your marriage. ” 

“No,” replied Evelyn, slowly, “ because I think he 
saw, then, the way things were going. I was play- 
ing tennis with your sister that afternoon.” 

“ Ah ! so you were ! . . . and I suppose the mis- 
chief was irrevocably done the night of the tableaux 
vivants ? ” 

Evelyn thought of his encounter with his father 
that night, and could answer truly. 

“Yes, I made up my mind then. I only came 
here, to Learning, because she was invited.” 

“Aha ! ” said Dick, thinking how deep these qujet 
fellows were. “Well, I know she considers you the 
greatest hero living, an embodiment of all the cham- 
pions of romance ; but I don’t expect she imagined 
for a moment that her Jove would descend from the 
clouds and woo her ! ” 

Remorseful memories of his blundering courtship 
brought a most unwonted red to the Major’s brow. 

“She — she was very much upset,” he said ruefully. 
“I was too sudden, I think. I don’t know anything 
about women, you see.” 

“ Poor little Leo 1 ” said Richard, softly. 

“I’ll do anything — everything in my power to 
make her happy,” faltered Evelyn, “ we live simply, 
you know, but both of us would like a little more life 
about the house. She can have anything she wants, 
in reason, and my father will dote upon her. ” 

“You would think of living at Feverell, then, with 
Mr. Westmorland ? ” 

“Why — yes. I couldn’t leave him, I’m afraid,” 
said Evelyn, struck as with a new idea. ‘ ‘ Do you 
think Miss Forde will dislike it? The house is large 
enough for us all three, I think.” 

“ Oh, you must consult her about that. I dare say 
you will have no difficulty : she is too young to have 
very deep-rooted proclivities. My little Leo ! Dear 


THE IDES OF MARCH. 187 

me, how odd ! Never once did it cross my mind ; 
and yet, now that it is done, I will tell you frankly 
that I would rather see her married to you than to 
any other man I know. I believe in you.” 

Evelyn sighed. How hard it was, this approach to 
marriage which he had dutifully set himself to climb. 
How slowly the hours had passed since yesterday 
evening, when he obtained Leo’s promise. Had he 
ever passed such a long night before — each hour 
lengthened into two, and marked mournfully by the 
old church clock ? 

He consoled himself by the sentence he had 
written of old in his first Latin exercise-book, “ All 
beginning is difficult.” He had manfully made his 
beginning, torn away and flung out of his heart any- 
thing that offended. No wonder that, so soon after 
amputation, he should feel lacerated and weak. He 
meant to love Leo dearly ; to devote his life to her as 
soon as this brief madness was over. It would very 
soon be over now. Richard had telegraphed Disney 
to make himself at home until to-morrow, and then 
Major Westmorland and the Fordes would return to 
Norchester, and the engagement be duly announced. 

That would be the hour of Evelyn’s reward. He 
could look his friend in the eyes without shame, 
having wrestled with and cast out temptation. And 
his father’s joy! He could fancy his approving 
glance, his warm grasp of the hand, the health and 
elasticity which would return to him now that the 
overshadowing dread of the prophecy was gone. 

“I thought something was up with the little 
woman last night,” said Dick, with a meditative 
smile, as they reached the end of the shrubbery and 
turned. “She was so subdued ; I dare say, if we had 
been alone, it would all have come out.” 

“Here she comes,” said the Major, suddenly, as 
a vision of a summer-dress appeared at the end of the 
green nut-tree avenue. “ She said she should join us 
when I had prepared you. ” 

Leo came towards them, slowly and shyly, her fac§ 


1 88 


THE IDES OF MATCH. 


sober with the awe of her new condition, her eyes 
fixed wistfully on Richard. 

“Well/’ he said as soon as she was within earshot, 
“ this is a nice business to let me in for the minute 
after breakfast. ” 

“Oh, Dick?” she cried, beseechingly; and running 
to him, hugged him heartily, hiding her glowing face 
in his shoulder. ‘ ‘ It seems so disgusting of me to 
think of preferring anybody to you, dear ! ” 

“That’s nature, Leo,” said her brother, gravely. 
“Of course I don’t understand it ; I don’t understand 
how any woman could prefer any man in the world 
to me. I have to accept it as an unaccountable 
fact. ” 

“ Oh, Dick, don’t make fun ! ” 

“ I am not often accused of such a thing, but you 
and I seem to have changed characters to-day. Have 
you not a smile for your lover here ? ” 

She turned her face to Evelyn then, and gave him 
a look which he must have been flint indeed not to 
respond to^ — a look so maidenly, and yet so ardent, 
would have flattered any man. 

His unwonted smile lighted up his face and he 
stretched out his arms to her. 

“ Leo ! I think Richard will let me have you,” he 
said, unsteadily. 

“ Let her speak ! ” said Richard, holding her back. 
“Look well at him, Leo ! Do you really care about 
him — so many years older and wiser than yourself ? ” 

“ Oh, Dick ! Dick ! You know ! ” 

“You are sure you know your own mind, my 
child?” 

“ Oh, quite sure ! ” 

“Then I suppose it must be ! I must give you up. 
But you must allow me time, Leo — time to grow used 
to the idea of losing you. There ! I must take a 
stroll, and think it over. I daresay you two will ex- 
cuse me. Little scamp ! ” he concluded, fondly. 
“Fancy your being Mrs. Westmorland, of Feverell 
Chase,” 


THE IDES OF MARCH. ^ 

He released her with a very tender kiss : and then 
Evelyn came forward. 

‘‘Come down and sit by the beck, and we will 
talk,” he said, drawing her willing hand through his 
arm. 

They wandered away together, down the steep 
woody glade, to the side of the noisy beck where, 
two or three days ago, they had fished. Very 
silently, now, they sat down on a mossy stone : and 
Evelyn wondered what he should say. His betrothed 
saved him the trouble of beginning. 

“I want to tell you something,” she said, shyly. 

“ Yes, Leo? Tell me — anything.” 

“You will not be angry? ” 

“I can safely promise that.” 

“Well, it is this: I felt so — yesterday evening — 
so strange, you know, that I felt, whatever happened, 
I must tell some one. So I told Hope — you are not 
angry ? ” 

“No — certainly not.” 

“You looked angry.” 

“It is my forbidding expression; you must teach 
me to look pleasant, won’t you ? I am a dull fellow, 
and you are like one of those bright, flashing hum- 
ming birds that dart about in the sunlight. Are you 
not afraid of growing moped and grave like me ? ” 

“No,” she said, lightly brushing the shoulder of 
his rough coat with her velvety cheek, “I love you 
so.” 

“God bless you ! ” he cried, in a sudden burst of 
thankfulness. “ It is new to me to be loved ; ” and he 
kissed her with a warmth which astonished him. 

The kiss was a very great and agitating matter to 
Leo. He had to soothe her as best he could. He 
felt constrained to beg her pardon so many times that 
at last she was obliged to laugh, and that set them 
on an easier footing. He began to talk to her of 
many things — his father’s welcome for her, and the 
old Chase at Feverell which would be her home, and 
the wonderful old sapphire ring which had belonged 


190 


THE IDES OF MARCH 


to the Westmorlands for many generations, and 
which he meant should be her betrothal-ring. Talk 
like this was easy, and at the end of an hour he felt 
that he had been neither bored nor miserable, and a 
hope began to dawn that one day, in the future, he 
should forget his present pain, looking upon it as a 
sick delusion, and give thanks for the resolution that 
enabled him to live through that scene last night in 
the starlit garden. To-morrow would be the end. 
He should leave Learning and Hope Merrion behind, 
and begin his new life in earnest. 

“And I may give parties atFeverell, and invite my 
friends to stay with me ! ” cried Leo, joyfully. “It 
will be like a fairy-tale. I know who will be the first 
guest I invite — Hope ! I am so fond of her.” 

There was no need for the Major to tell her that he 
did not wish this particular guest invited; he knew 
too well that Hope Merrion would never cross his 
threshold. 

“She thinks you very good,” said Leo presently. 

“What ? ” was his inelegant and startled ejaculation. 

“ Hope thinks you very good. I asked her yester- 
day evening.” 

“She said so?” 

“Yes. Poor Hope! she has been so unhappy. 
She was engaged to be married, and she found out 
that the man she was engaged to was not good ; she 
was disappointed in him, and she had to break it off. 
She told me it was the most miserable time of her 
life.” 

“Did she mention in what way she was disap- 
pointed ? ” asked Evelyn, drilling holes in the moss 
with his stick. 

“She didn’t exactly say, as far as I remember,” 
said Leo, thoughtfully. “If I had asked more, I 
think she would have told me more ; but I was so 
full of my own concerns. I have an idea — that is, 
I gathered, from what she said, that he told her a 
falsehood.” 

“ Qh ! ” said Evelyn, helplessly. 


THE IDES OF MARCH, 


191 

The sound of the great outdoor bell now pealed 
through the house. 

“ Oh !” cried Leo, starting up, “that is for early 
lunch. You know we are all to ride to Rushing 
Ghyl directly afterwards! I must make haste; I 
ought to put on my habit before lunch. ,, 

He helped her up the mossy bank, and walked at 
her side with his thoughts once more rebelliously 
full of the forbidden topic. It seemed as if Leo, too, 
were still dwelling on her friend’s unlucky love-affair, 
for she presently said, 

“I am trying to recall something Hope said 
yesterday before we met you. Was it really only 
yesterday ? It seems to me years ago. Everything 
has happened since . . She broke off into 
musing. 

“Well?” said Evelyn, hating himself for his in- 
ability to repress the question. 

“ She said,” said Leo, “that she was the cause — 
the innocent cause — of a great wrong being done. 
We were leaning against that gate on the church 
hill, and she cried as she told me about it. She said 
the wrong could never be put right now, and that 
there was something, here in Learning, that reminded 
her of it. She is not happy, I am sure ; I believe she 
would like to die.” 

“That seems unnatural.” 

“Don’t you like Hope?” said Leo, innocently. 
“You always seem vexed if I talk about her.” 

“I know very little of her; but I must say she 
does not convey to me the impression of being un- 
happy, or of wishing to die,” he said, bitterly. 

They were nearing the hall-door as he spoke, and 
the words were barely out of his mouth, when, as 
if to corroborate them, a peal of laughter — Hope’s 
own clear laughter — burst upon their ears. They 
hurried in. 

The hall was filled with a crowded audience — 
most of the servants, Mollie, Muriel, Richard Forde, 
and Greville. In the centre were ranged twelve 


THE IDES OF MARCH 


192 

chairs, in a circle, eight or nine feet across. In each 
chair sat a dog, in sizes varying from Mollie's yard- 
mastiff to Muriel’s toy terrier. The faces of the 
twelve were a study, all being fixed with rapture on 
Hope, who, attended by the ever faithful Tom, stood 
in the centre of the circle with a plate of cake. She 
dexterously threw a morsel to each dog in rapid 
succession, and, what with the skill and precision 
of her aim and the accomplishment of the dogs, she 
threw two rounds without any missing. It was a 
ludicrous sight. Mollie laughed till he was forced to 
take off his spectacles, and wipe his eyes. The 
frantic excitement of the dancing, yapping terriers, 
the trembling tearfulness of the spaniels, and the 
utter unconcern of Tom's fine St. Bernard, whose 
huge jaws opened and shut, as his master observed, 
“like a portcullis,” were irresistible. 

The two fresh arrivals on the scene seemed to 
animate Hope anew. She had never looked more 
brilliant, more daring, more dangerous. Greville’s 
eyes were fixed upon her ; he looked like a man 
under a spell. 

“There, Larrie ! The last bit is for you, because 
you are old and suffering,” she said, tossing a morsel 
to the Major's old Skye, which was the only dog he 
brought with him to Hesselburgh. “There! the 
performance is over. Down, dogs ! Now, Brown,” 
—to the groom “you may take Don back to the 
yard. He has been as good as gold ; I told you he 
would.” 

“Yes, miss,” grinned Brown, “but you've got 
such a way with the dawgs ! ” 

“And now, madcap, come to lunch, or you will 
have time for none,” said Mollie, pattiner her 
shoulder. 

“I say, we haven't sent the hat round yet !” cried 
Tom. 

“Ladies and gentlemen, knowing your needy 
circumstances, we will accept a round of applause 
instead,’ said Hope, modestly. 


THE IDES OF MARCH. 


*93 

It was given with hearty goodwill, nearly sending 
the terriers into hysterics. Tom and she bowed their 
acknowledgments, and marched into the dining- 
room in state, arm-in-arm. 

“ Wasn’t it a beautiful performance ? ” asked Tom, 
breathlessly, of Greville, to whom he had taken a 
great fancy. 

“Splendid. Was it quite impromptu?” 

“Oh, quite ! It came into our heads through 
seeing three of them sitting in a row on hall chairs, 
and then we hunted up all the others.” 

Greville put up his double eyeglass, the better to 
study this new phase in Miss Merrion's character. 
What a head of his establishment she would make ! 
What a hostess ! All that glee — those spirits — that 
ease, combined with such undoubted breeding. He 
had heard several London men — visitors at Fred 
Merrion’s — say that “Miss Merrion, the heiress, was 
so confoundedly standoffish.” 

Ah, if they could see her among those she loved ! 


CHAPTER XXII. 

I KNOW THEY HAVE A CURSE. 

And they felt the breath of the downs, fresh-blown 
Over leagues of clover, and cold grey stone. 

Bret Harte. 

“Make the most of to-day, my children, for the 
weather is going to change,” said Tom, as he altered 
the length of his stirrups, standing on the hall door- 
step. 

“Nonsense, Tom! I never saw it look more 
settled in my life,” said Muriel, who was already 
mounted on her own beautiful little mare. 

“All right ! You know better than old Benjamin, 
13 


THE IDES OF MARCH. 


194 

I suppose. He says the glass has been creeping 
slowly down for three days, and that means a week 
of pouring rain with the wind in this quarter ; so 
gather your roses while ye may, knights and ladies 
all.” 

“I shall not mind going away so much, if it turns 
wet,” whispered Leo, softly, to the Major, who had 
just put her into the saddle, and was now loosening 
a strap for her. 

Nothing had as yet been said of the engagement. 
Mr. Westmorland must be consulted before it could 
be announced. Hope had not even spoken of it to 
Muriel. She felt as if the mere mention of Evelyn 
Westmorland’s name would choke her. 

All through the sleepless hours of the summer night 
she had lain, watching the stars — seeing the first glow 
of dawn in the wan east, and hearing the earliest 
chirp of the waking birds in the ivy outside her 
window. 

She was a prey to a pain which she could not 
understand. A depression, totally unlike anything 
she had ever felt before, weighed her down. She 
knew its ostensible cause ; the affront offered her by 
an ignorant, angry, prejudiced young man in the 
garden the night before. But why should this have 
taken such terrible hold upon her ? When had she 
ever cared for people’s misjudgment of her before ? 
Last winter, in Columbo, every one had agreed to be- 
lieve that Miss Merrion had treated that nice young 
Disney abominably ; and opinions had been pretty 
freely expressed. What had she heeded ? All disap- 
proving looks, innuendoes, hints of unconscionable 
flirtation, and attitudes of pained surprise had been 
as nothing to her. Why was this latest champion of 
her discarded lover so much more formidable ? Why 
was his disapprobation to crush her ? 

The only reasons she could think of were three in 
number. In the first place, she had been obliged to 
be in the same house with him, and consequently 
had, as it were, lived in an atmosphere of his con- 


THE IDES OF MARCH. 


195 

tempt ; secondly, he would prejudice Leo against her 
— Leo, for whom she had conceived so genuine a 
liking ; thirdly, she had so far forgotten herself as to 
ask him to be friends with her, and he had declined. 
She supposed that it must be an admixture of these 
feelings which weighed so heavily upon her soul, 
yet all of them combined seemed yet inadequate as a 
reason for the abyss of dreariness into which she had 
suddenly sunk. Her own pallor and heavy-lidded 
appearance, when she looked in her glass on rising, 
had startled her. Desperate measures must be taken. 
Whatever happened, she must not seem to care. 
Nobody must remark that she looked pale, or out of 
spirits. 

So far, she had been completely successful. Mollie 
thought he had never seen her so gay, so irresistibly, 
infectiously merry, and, after all, it was only for to- 
day — only a few hours more, then her enemy would 
be gone, and she should never, never see him again. 
She could shake off the memory of his dislike and his 
rudeness, and life would be again as it had been for 
her on that dewy morning when Tom and she went 
mushrooming in the park. 

So she boldly told herself, but in vain. Vaguely 
she felt that she could never reconstruct the Hope 
who drove that brilliant morning in the dog-cart to 
Norchester station, to meet the strange, morose, un- 
bending man, who by utterly declining to succumb 
to her influence, by mutely refusing even to be at 
peace with her, had succeeded in giving her so deep 
an impression of her own insufficiency. 

“For,” she had argued to herself in the nocturnal 
silence, “though I was not guilty in the way he 
thinks, yet can I honestly say that I was not to blame 
in the Disney affair? What am I? What have I 
been all my life but a butterfly, living in the sunshine 
of admiration — happy, because I was petted and 
made much of? Why did I say ‘yes’ to Edgar 
Disney? Because he was handsome and winning, 
and it was very pleasant to be loved as he seemed to 


THE IDES OF MARCH. 


196 

love me ! Did it go any deeper ? Did I ask myself 
what I was prepared to suffer, to give up for him, if 
called upon ? I never once thought of the word 
‘self-sacrifice/ in connection with love. I never 
thought of self-sacrifice at all, until I met him — this 
man who is my enemy. When first I saw him, simply 
and naturally devoting his life and energies to the 
care of a fretful, conceited old man, who under- 
valued him, made use of him, sneered at him ; and 
when I saw that all the time he never even knew that 
there was anything which anybody could call fine in 
his conduct, that he simply did it because it did not 
occur to him to do anything else — that such service, 
which expected no reward, was absolutely natural to 
him : then I knew the meaning of the love which is 
self-sacrifice. I knew what that man would be when 
he loved a woman ! Oh, that is the sting of it ! That 
is the sting of it ! In this one point on which we are 
at feud, I am right, and he is wrong ; but in our- 
selves, it is the other way. He is noble; I am 
paltry. He quietly and unconsciously lays down his 
own will to do his fathers ; I live to amuse myself ! 
No wonder he despises me ! I despise myself ! ” 

Such thoughts would come ; they were not to 
be dismissed ; again her mind was full of them as 
her maid arranged her habit and fastened her hat 
securely. 

Was there nothing she could do to make her respect 
herself ? No duty in the world for her to perform ? 
Who was there of her kith and kin who needed her 
devotion ? The only ones she loved were Fred’s 
children, and they had all they wanted, including 
even a most exceptionally good governess. Hope 
had a great respect for Mabel Thorpe, and a great 
tenderness for her story. She was the eldest of a 
clergyman’s swarming family, a poor vicar whose 
struggles to educate his children and serve his parish 
had broken down his health and spirits. Mabel was 
engaged to his curate, Arthur Strange — as hopeless 
an engagement as could well be imagined ; yet the 


THE IDES OE MARCH. 


197 


courage of these two never failed. Secure of one 
another’s love, no reverse of fortune seemed to have 
power over them ; and this was true love, as Hope 
felt. 

“You look pale, Miss Merrion,” observed Bowen. 

“ You don’t say so ! Do I?” cried Hope, snatch- 
ing up a hand-glass. “I wish I had some rouge ! 
I would put it on.” 

“Your ride will freshen you up, miss. You was 
all up too late last night, that’s what it is. I think, 
miss, you are quite ready, and I fancy you are keep- 
ing the party waiting ; so you had better go. ” 

“Now for it again,” was Hope’s inward adjuration 
to herself. “Into the arena once more ; it will soon 
be over, remember.” 

She had not spoken to Evelyn that day, and only 
once had encountered his eyes as he entered the hall 
where, as Tom said, they were playing the fool with 
the dogs. He had come in with Leo, and stood on 
one side, that expression of unbending, rigid scorn 
on his face. How well she knew it ! How she felt 
what it expressed ! She had answered it with her 
most flippant smile, but her heart had ached ever 
since. 

Down the staircase she ran, past the oil-painting 
of Mollie's dead young wife, which hung over the 
hearth in the hall. That picture had been a very 
severe disappointment to Hope at first, it represented 
such a plump, rosy, cheerful young person, with no 
trace in her round blue eyes of 

“ That look they say they have 
In their faces, who die young.” 

Moreover, Mrs. Lyster had been married and 
painted in those terrible days of the “chignon,” and 
was represented decked out in all the fashion of her 
time, in chalky white muslin and pink ribbons, a long 
gold watch-chain and an ivory cross on a piece of 
black velvet tied tight round her neck. It was, how- 


198 


THE IDES OF MARCH. 


ever, a face which grew upon you, it was so fresh 
and honest and happy ; and to-day Hope envied it as 
she passed. To be so truly loved, so sincerely and 
permanently mourned, is not the portion of many 
women. 

Outside, every one was mounted, except Mr. Gre- 
ville, and Tom greeted her with a shout of 

“ Hurry up, duckie ! ” 

“Am I keeping you all waiting?” said she. “I 
am very sorry.” 

“Let me put you up, Miss Merrion?” pleaded 
Greville. 

“Am I to ride Peony?” continued she, as she 
stood just inside the doorway, surveying the party. 
“ Oh, yes, I see I am. I hope she is not too fresh, 
Brown ? ” 

“Well, yes, miss, perhaps she is a bit fresh,” con- 
fessed the groom, who held Peony’s head, ‘ ‘ but she 
won’t give you no trouble, miss, no more than the 
dawgs did ; ” and Brown grinned, a stable auxiliary 
in the background grinning likewise, having evidently 
heard of and appreciated Miss Merrion’s new way of 
amusing the company. 

Hope felt a trifle indignant with herself for her un- 
dignified escapade, and really a little nervous about her 
ride. Fearless as she was in all other ways, she was 
strangely enough rather a timid horsewoman, having 
had a bad fall as a child. 

“Did you not exercise her yesterday, as I asked 
you, Brown ? ” she said, reproachfully. 

“Well, I couldn’t manage it exactly yesterday, miss, 
with the shooting and the station and the luggage ; 
but bless you, miss, she’s all right, as quiet as a lamb ; 
and a canter on the moor’ll soon take the sperrit out 
of her.” 

“What is it, Hope?” cried Muriel, whose horse 
was moving slowly down the drive. 

“ I’m afraid Peony will run away with me again, 
as she did the other day.” 

“Oh, nonsense,” cried Tom; “up with you ! She 


THE IDES OF MARCH. 


l 99 

only bolted about fifty yards, and that was because 
she saw a traction engine.” 

“Well, if there are many traction engines about to- 
day, I hope some kind person will come to her head,” 
said Hope, resignedly, “for I could not have stopped 
her last week if a precipice had been in front of us. ” 

“Why, you did stop her — pulled her up splen- 
didly ! ” 

“Only because a steep, long hill befriended me. 
But I will mount, and say no more about it. I am 
very foolish and cowardly, I know.” 

“Is there not another horse you could have ?” 
asked Greville, in a low voice, as she sprang lightly 
to her seat. 

She shook her head. 

“Peony is the only one who will carry a habit, 
except Muriel’s own mare ; and Miss Forde must 
have the old pony, because she is quite a beginner ; 
and really this one goes beautifully — I liked her very 
much till she frightened me by bolting : it is foolish 
to be nervous, but I don’t seem able to help it.” 

“She will not bolt to-day, with so many of us 
in the party,” said Greville, reassuringly. “What a 
cavalcade ! Eight of us. Does Lyster mount us all ? ” 

“The Saxons brought their own horses, and Major 
Westmorland his hunter : the others are all from the 
Learning stables. ’’ 

“Lyster seems quite to have adopted the two 
young Saxons.” 

“Oh, yes ; Tom is his heir,” said Hope, as they 
moved slowly onward a little to the rear of the rest 
of the party. “ He is to have everything, except a 
sum — ten thousand pounds, I believe it is — which 
goes to Muriel. It is very curious — how unequally 
things are divided in this world ! ” 

“Are you thinking of any particular instance? ” he 
said, as she broke off. 

“Yes, I am thinking that Muriel and Tom will be 
as rich as need be, without this fortune of Mollies ; 
and I know a girl to whom half that ten thousand 


200 


THE IDES OF MARCH. 


pounds would mean everything — freedom to marry 
the man she loved. ” 

“Indeed!” 

“Yes, she is such a brave girl— engaged to a curate 
in a large, desolate country parish, with no chance of 
preferment. I wish I could help them. ” 

Greville thought her generous sympathy exceed- 
ingly becoming. 

“Do you know nobody with any church patron- 
age ? ” he asked. 

“ Church patronage ? ” said she, puzzled. 

“ I suppose you know that some families have 
livings in their gift ? ” 

“ Why, yes ; I never thought of that, she said, as 
if struck. 

“You know so many people, I think you must 
know somebody who could help you in that way,” 
he said. “I, unfortunately, have no presentation; 
but Major Westmorland, now— there are two or more 
livings in the Westmorland gift, I know for a fact. 
Why don't you ask him ? ” 

A curious tightening came over the pretty lips. 

“ Major Westmorland is a very slight acquaintance,” 
said she, curtly. 

Greville looked at her with a momentary surprise. 

“A thoroughly good fellow, by all accounts,” he 
said, tentatively ; “at least, he was very popular in 
the army.” 

“ He and I don’t get on very well together, some- 
how,” replied Hope. 

“ Has he not a very eccentric father? ” 

“ His father,” she answered, answered, incisively, 
“belongs to a school of good manners long since 
obsolete ; he has not succeeded in transmitting any 
of them to his son.” 

“ Are his manners not good ? That is supposed to 
be a prevalent fault, nowadays,” said Greville, mu- 
singly. “ I thought myself yesterday that he seemed 
rather wool-gathering, but I imagined the cause was 
to be sought there,” nodding towards Leo’s slim 


THE IDES OF MARCH. " 


201 


figure, ‘ 1 and that it was a temporary phase. I sup- 
pose,” he added, smiling a little, “ that the Curse will 
not come off, after all.” 

“ The Curse ? ” said Hope, much mystified. 

“Yes, the doom of the Westmorlands ; surely you 
have heard of it ? ” 

“ Never, indeed ! ” 

“Well, such modesty is refreshing, nowadays,” 
cried Greville, “it is what I could not hope to imi- 
tate. If I had a right-down genuine Curse, centuries 
old, in my family archives, I should send it to all the 
society papers, and I should be the hero of the hour ! 
Do the Westmorlands really never talk of theirs ? ” 

“ I never heard a word of it ; are you not joking ? ” 
“ No, on my honour. I know they have a Curse. 
This Major Westmorland’s mother was Lady Gertrude 
Coniston, you know — Lord Ulleswaters daughter. ” 

‘ ‘ I know that his second name is Coniston. ” 

“Very likely. My people are related to the Conis- 
tons, and that is how I heard of the matter. ” 

“ But what is the Curse ? Do tell me.” 

“I'm afraid I never heard the details; but it is 
something to do with the estates being held by a 
younger son, and, as the Major’s father was a younger 
son, I believe he is much afraid that the prophecy 
will be fulfilled in his day. ” 

“ The Major is afraid ? ” 

“No, his father. I have been told that he is quite 
cracked on the subject, but rumour doubtless exag- 
gerates these things.” 

“ Certainly I never heard of it,” replied Hope, won- 
deringly, ‘ ‘ though everybody seems to admit that 
old Mr. Westmorland is very tiresome.” 

As she spoke, the horses reached the end of the 
steep, wooded lane, up which they had been climbing ; 
and, with a burst, the whole of the wide moorland 
lay before them, with its heaving ridges, its rounded 
turf heights crowded with rocky tors, and its white, 
lonely ribbon-like roads, stretching away apparently 
into illimitable distance. 


202 


THE IDES OF MARCH 


CHAPTER XXIII. 

THE LAST RIDE TOGETHER. 

“ I and my mistress, side by side, 

Shall be together, breathe, and ride, 

So, one day more am I defied. 

Who knows but the world may end to-night? ” 

Robert Browning. 

Simultaneously they all reined in their horses for a 
few minutes, to enjoy that panorama. The sun 
brooded over it, hot and sleepy, and the few clouds 
in the southwest were too distant and too motion- 
less to make them apprehensive. To Hope there 
was always a strange, unwilling fascination in the 
silence and solitude of the moor ; a desire to wander 
off there by herself, which was horrible, and yet 
could not be resisted. She thought of the scapegoat, 
and the land not inhabited, as her eye roamed over 
the ridges. 

“You cannot see very far, the ground is too irreg- 
ular,” said Greville. 

“Oh, no, you never get an extensive view,” an- 
swered Mollie, “the hills seem to rise behind you as 
you advance. Before we have got very far into the 
moor, you will not be able to see a scrap of cultivated 
ground.” 

“But you said there were such lovely ferns and 
trees at Rushing Ghyl,” said Leo, who was beginning 
to find her tongue again. “ This place looks too 
bare and desolate for ferns and trees ! ” 

“We must ride some miles before we come to 
them,” said Mollie, “the river-valley is hidden away 
so cunningly ; but I can show you where it lies — 
over yonder, behind the hill with a pointed rock at 


THE IDES OF MARCH. 


203 

the top. That is Carra Tor, and there is a cromlech 
on the further side of it.” 

“A cromlech?” said Leo. 

4 ‘Yes, an altar-stone, where the Druids offered 
sacrifice ; have you never seen one ? ” 

“ Never.” 

“There is a curious tradition about this one,” he 
said, smiling, “which Tom, as a little boy, was very 
fond of hearing. ” 

“About the human victim ? ” cried Tom. “Yes, 
Mollie used to be a very good hand at describing the 
old altar-stone streaming with blood, and the Druids 
with their coats off warming up well to their work, 
when, just at the moment that the knife was lifted to 
knock the young Christian martyr on the head— what 
happened, Mollie?” 

“Oh, you may as well finish, as you have begun 
so successfully.” 

“Well,” said Tom, “a jet of water spouted up 
from the stone, which was taken to be a sign that the 
gods wanted to put a stop to the execution ; and 
there is the round hole still, where the fountain came 
out.” 

“My father would tell you,” said Evelyn, smiling, 
“ that the hole was made intentionally in the stone by 
the Druids, to carry off the blood ; there is such a 
hole in most cromlechs.” 

“ A nasty, spiteful piece of nineteenth century 
rationalism,” said Tom, indignantly. “ I shall relate 
no more ecclesiastical legends.” 

“For the best of reasons — you don’t know any,” 
said Muriel, placidly. “Come, Mollie, we will give 
them a lead.” 

Off scoured the pretty mare and after her all the 
others, the dull thunder of their hoofs on the short 
warm turf awaking a strange excitement in all the 
young blood. Peony, who had been very calm and 
even depressed as they toiled up the stony lane, no 
sooner felt the elasticity of the ground beneath her, 
then she begun to bound and dance, and Greville 


204 


THE IDES OF MARCH, 


cast a watchful eye on her rider. It was easy to see 
that Hope was nervous, but she smiled bravely at 
him, her slim little figure very erect, her eyes very 
bright. 

“1 don’t mind her jumping about, if only she does 
not bolt, ” she said. ‘ ‘ I had a bad fall once, and now, 
however much I try to help it, directly I feel unable 
to pull my horse up, I always live over again that 
minute of being shot over its head into the road ; 
and it unnerves me. ” 

The next ridge — a pretty steep one — seemed to calm 
the horse’s spirits to a more decorous playfulness, 
and soon Hope could begin to chat again to her 
cavalier. 

He had a great deal to say of travels, books, and 
pictures ; he could discuss the last play, contrast the 
merits of rival composers, estimate the value of this 
year’s and last year’s Academy Exhibitions, enter into 
the political situation, and name the reigning family on 
every throne in Europe. Not only was he well-bred, 
well-read, and sensible, but he knew how to express 
himself with point and accuracy, and yet give no 
disagreeable impression of having got up his subject, 
nor of quoting his opinions from reviews, nor of talk- 
ing for talking’s sake. He was a man who would 
always be a social success. Every little bit of know- 
ledge he possessed was immediately ready to hand, 
and useful ; and he had also the tact which enabled 
him almost at once to know on what topic his com- 
panion for the time being would like to talk. 

Hope thought what a pleasant companion he was, 
and mentally compared him with the taciturn, un- 
compromising Major who never by any chance 
would open his lips to an audience of more than one 
if he could help it. 

Greville was very anxious to-day to turn this gen- 
eral talk into more personal channels; but with 
habitual tact, he saw that this was not quite possible. 
There was no shade of consciousness in Miss Merrion’s 
manner — nothing to give him a loop-hole, an excuse 


THE IDES OF MARCH. 


205 


for introducing himself or his hopes. She rode at his 
side indeed, she seemed desirous of doing so, and 
in no way anxious of changing her cavalier. But 
she was out of spirits, he thought, and wanted 
nothing less than to have her feelings stirred. The 
unselfishness which a sincere love begets made him 
feel all this, and restrict his talk to what might amuse 
or soothe her : and he succeeded very well. Even 
with Leo and Evelyn Westmorland riding always 
before — with their backs to study their movements to 
watch— to see without looking every time that his 
hand was outstretched to correct her holding of the 
reins, his head turned to speak to her or to point 
out something ahead — even with all this to be borne, 
Hope’s mood was softened and alleviated by his 
attentive kindness. 

But Tom was not going to stand this long ; he felt 
himself supplanted, and, like all boys of his age, he 
could be very annoying if he chose. To separate 
Hope and Greville was his object, and, for a time, he 
did not see how to accomplish it, riding with them on 
Hope’s other side was no use, for he was too empha- 
tically number three. Such also was the case if he 
tried to attach himself to Leo and the Major, or to his 
sister and Dr. Forde. It was exceedingly mortifying ; 
Mollie was the only person who seemed to have 
leisure to take any notice of him. It made him very 
wroth. 

“ He would never have come to Learning,” he told 
himself, angrily, “ if he had known all this spooning 
was going to be the result. He had thought that 
Hope and Muriel were sensible, and despised such 
nonsense ; ” and he cast various withering glances 
at his fickle fair one, which she was too heavy- 
hearted to notice. 

And now, at last, they reached the river valley. 
Quite unexpectedly they turned a corner, and caught 
a view of a deep gorge, of cool shady woods and 
granite heights, purple with their glory of heather. 
Now for the first time they heard the roar of the great 


206 the ides of march. 

falls, hidden as yet from view by many windings of 
the valley. 

“ We generally dismount here,” said Mollie, wheel- 
ing round, “and fasten up the horses ; the way 
down to the falls is so steep and full of loose stones.” 

It was a work of some little time to make fast all 
the steeds, but it was at last accomplished, and then 
they started on their downward path. Firstly, 
through a larch-wood, the sun glinting down in pale 
rays among the stems ; for a mist seemed to be 
eclipsing its brightness, and the air was heavy and 
oppressive. Next, across an old stone bridge, built 
by the monks of a by-gone day, under which the 
shallow torrent rushed musically, broken by huge 
mossy boulders tufted with delicate fern. Now 
height after height of heather and granite rose around 
them, and they wound their way in and out among 
the loose rocks on the shores of the stream. Presently 
a point was reached too steep for the ladies to jump 
down without assistance. 

Evelyn, who was in front, lifted down Leo, and 
then Miss Saxon. Close behind her came Hope, who 
did not see who waited below to perform the kindly 
office until she stood in the narrow gap, with her 
hands outstretched. It was her first chance that day 
to fling back the glove in his face, and she took it. 
With great calmness, she turned her back upon him, 
and said, just loud enough for him to hear. 

“Tom, are you there? I want you to jump me 
down.” 

Tom bustled forward delightedly, jumped down 
himself, so suddenly as almost to upset Major West- 
morland, and then turned to Hope. 

“ Now, then, duckie ! ” he cried, delightedly. 

Down floated Hope, as lightly as a leaf, her slender 
body scarcely seeming to rest any of its weight upon 
him. Then, gathering up her habit, 

“Race me to that tree, Tom!” she gaily cried; 
and away they both darted, distancing all the rest of 
the party, and arriving first at the Rushing Ghyl, 


THE IDES OF MARCH. 


207 

All heartburnings, and jealousy, all hatred seemed 
thrown into the background by the majesty of the 
beautiful column of translucent water, green and 
gleaming with the light which transfused it at the 
top, sinking under their feet into an abyss of darkness, 
from which arose a mighty roaring and a cloud of 
white, dust-like spray. 

Hope leaned silently against a projecting piece of 
granite, and gave herself up to contemplation. Here, 
night and day, unseen, unheard, far beyond reach of 
the cockney tourist, it “thundered on the everlasting 
hills, ” doing its portion of work for the world, un- 
weary, uncomplaining, grand in its solitude, purity, 
and awfulness. No one spoke, for no one’s voice 
could be heard in the rushing of the falls. Unceas- 
ingly they flowed on — the generous tribute of life, 
fertility, and abundance sent by the hills to the val- 
leys, their sisters. Into Hope’s mind came familiar 
words, invested with a new meaning. 

‘ ‘ They go up as high as the hills, and down to the 
valleys beneath ; even unto the place which Thou 
hast appointed for them.” 

And surely, if every runnel which trickled in the 
moss had its appointed bourne, and its work which 
it was created to do, then there was work and a place 
in the world for Hope Merrion — there must be ! 

At last Muriel came up, and broke into her reverie 
by shouting in her ear. 

‘ ‘ Mollie thinks we ought to be moving — the storm 
is coming up so fast.” 

She raised her eyes then to the sky, lurid and over- 
cast. 

“What a pity ! ” she sighed, as she turned reluc- 
tantly away. 

Greville joined her as soon as they were far enough 
from the vociferous waterfall to make his voice 
audible. 

“You appeared very grave just now as you stood 
looking at the Ghyl,” said he. 

“I was thinking seriously,” she replied, frankly. 


2o8 


THE IDES OF MARCH. 


“I can be serious — even I — now and then, you 
know.” 

“Of course,” he said, hastily, “else you were not 
the true woman I take you to be.” 

‘ 1 There is something in those falls which impressed 
me,” she said. 

“Or was it partly something in your mind to 
which the grandeur of nature responded ? ” suggested 
he. “You know, sometimes, our impressions of 
things vary greatly, according to the frame of mind 
in which we approach them.” 

“I know,” she answered. 

Greville felt that he had made a beginning, how- 
ever small. He had spoken to her of herself and her 
feelings, and she had not turned it off, nor answered 
lightly, nor seemed offended. He would have liked 
to say more, but the turn of the path showed them to 
be in sight of the horses, and he must perforce wait 
until they were mounted again. As they halted to 
watch the others come up, a low mutter of thunder 
reverberated among the hills, and Mollie, stepping 
out into the open, anxiously surveyed the threatening 
heavens. 

“ I am considering,” he said, “ whether it would 
be wiser to get into the shelter of the woods here 
until the storm is gone by ; it seems to be coming 
up so exceedingly rapidly.” 

“ There would be better shelter under the hanging 
Tor, wouldn't there ? ” suggested Tom. “ We should 
have plenty of time to ride there, and we could pro- 
tect the horses much better.” 

“ A good thought, Tom; I fancy that is the best 
thing we can do. Mount is the order, then.” 

This little debate had been unheard by Greville, 
who was busy putting Hope on her horse, and she 
was already in the saddle. As soon as she was seated, 
he walked off to fetch his own horse, which was 
fastened at some little distance. The animal had 
somehow contrived to get the reins entangled round 
a broken branch of the tree to which it was tethered, 


THE IDES OF MARCH. 


209 

and it took Greville some few minutes to extricate it. 

Major Westmorland had just liberated his fine 
hunter, when, in an instant, the whole sky was 
opened with a fearfully vivid flash of forked lightning, 
and, crashing immediately upon it, a roll of such 
thunder as is only to be heard among the hills. 

Hope, totally unprepared, started violently ; Peony, 
mad with fear, reared — trembling and snorting. Her 
rider, barely seated, had not had time to take a firm 
grasp of the reins ; she dropped her whip, and, before 
she could recover herself, the irritable mare was off 
— off, almost as swiftly as the sudden flash itself — 
^disappearing with her young rider instantaneously 
from view among the windings of the hills. 

Evelyn was in the saddle at the same moment. 
The soldier, used to ride barebacked, stirrupless, every 
possible way — did not hesitate for a single second. 
His hunter and himself were both as fresh as when 
they started, and it seemed as if, with miraculous 
quickness, the horse seized the intention of its rider, 
and was gone ! 

Like the winged steeds of Walktire, these two had 
flashed from sight and vanished. When Tom, wild 
with excitement, rushed on foot round the sharp bend 
to the left, behind which they had disappeared, there 
was no sign of either to be seen, only the lowering 
moor in its dark, desolate silence, and leaving on its 
springy turf no trace of the fugitive’s feet. 

14 


THE IDES OF MARCH \ 


210 


CHAPTER XXIV. 

A LAND NOT INHABITED. 

We two stood there, with never a third, 

But each by each, as each knew well. 

Robert Browning. 

“ To horse! to horse!” shouted Tom. “ A pur- 
suit, a capture ! Hurry, Greville, Forde, Mollie ! 
Let us overtake them ! ” 

“ Oh, yes ! Go ! go ! Muriel and I will not mind 
being left!” burst out Leo. “Oh, be quick! be 
quick ! ” 

“ But in which direction ? ” cried Greville, ashy pale, 
as at last he adjusted, bungling in his frantic haste, 
the misplaced bit, and galloped a little forward. 

“God knows!” cried Mollie. “I only pray the 
Major was in time to see which way she went.” 

“We will have a try, at all events,” said Greville, 
between his teeth ; and he started off at the fastest 
pace his horse, a very sober-minded hack, could be 
induced to adopt. 

Tom and Forde followed him, Mollie remaining to 
guide the girls safely to the hanging Tor, in view of 
the now imminent rain. 

And Hope rushed onward, into the forsaken regions 
she feared so much — into the black shadows of the 
land not inhabited. 

Peal after peal of thunder echoed in the hills, flash 
after flash of lightning terrified the frantic mare afresh. 
The young girl, motionless, upright in the saddle, 
holding the reins with a grip which was pain, — the 
moist air, heavy with coming rain, whistling bleakly 
past her, — wondered where it would end. 


THE IDES OF MATCH. 


211 


It would all be over soon — how ? where ? How 
long had she been rushing along so madly ? A mo- 
ment ? A lifetime ? Was death near ? was the knot 
of her difficulties to be cut like this ? 

The events of her life — of last year — of last week, 
seemed to be ranged before her. How fast her life 
had passed ! How little she had done in it ! And 
how trivial and small everything seemed, which was 
so apparently important. Could nothing stop her? 
Was no one near? 

She began to sway in the saddle. 

What was that, gleaming before her, on the ground, 
a long way off, white and pallid? A line of white 
chalk ? A road ? A river ? Yes, that last. It was 
much nearer now. It grew wider, and more terrible. 

It was the river fed by rushing Ghyl. That torrent 
by which she had stood and watched — those clear 
waters she had admired ! They were the waters that 
were to drown her. 

Did she want to die ? she hardly knew ; she was 
too unnerved, too nearly unconscious, to think even 
of trying to turn the mare's head. She strove to 
pray. A shout, a cry behind her ; she was too con- 
fused to catch the words. 

A rush of vehement hoofs on the turf. 

Then something dark and swift shot up abreast of 
them, a hand snatched at the bridle; there was a 
violent swerve, a jolt which unseated the fainting 
girl in an instant, and after that, it came, the sensa- 
tion Hope dreaded so acutely, the horrible conscious- 
ness of being hurled out into space, the sickening 
thud of limbs falling in a confused heap on the turf ; 
and a loud singing in the ears blotted out, for a 
minute, all other sounds. 

A weight, which had rested on her feet, was moved 
away. She moved a little, but a pain in her head 
shot so sharply through it that she sank back again, 
and closed her eyes. She might as well die so, she 
dimly thought, out on the savage, storm-beaten hill- 
side, her cheek upon the thymy grass. Everything 


212 


THE IDES OF MARCH. 


was quiet. No peal of thunder sounded. She moved 
her hands together, to say a prayer before she died. 
She was not unconscious, yet she felt as if she could 
not move, and considered whether her back or her 
neck were broken, as she had heard that, in such a 
case, one suffers little pain. 

Something cool touched her forehead, some cold, 
wet application was made several times across her 
brow and temples ; surely a human hand must be 
near — she would not have to die quite alone. 

She opened her great eyes ; pathetic and dark they 
seemed, in her small wan face, to the excited man 
bending over her. 

She looked up. They were Evelyn Westmorland’s 
dark features which met her view ; and in an instant 
all her dormant vitality was awake, her eyes blazed, 
the blood rushed to her cheeks, and with a determined 
struggle she rose— first to her knees, then to her feet, 
and managed to stagger several steps away from him 
in vehement haste, to a low stone wall near, on which 
she rested her hand to support herself, and gasped 
for breath. 

She was alive, no great injury had been done, limbs 
and spine were certainly intact : she felt only a great 
faintness, an unsteady heaving of the grim, frowning 
heavens and bare ground around her and the hateful 
consciousness of the presence of this enemy, this 
man who had insulted her. 

She found her voice. 

“Tom ! ” she cried, pitifully. “ Tom ! Oh, Mollie ! 
Muriel ! Tom ! Come here to me ! I am all alone ! ” 

The terrified accents were drowned by another 
terrific crash of thunder ; the steelly gleam of the 
lightning lit up the turgid surface of the stream ; and 
there was a mad rush of hoofs on the hollow, rever- 
berating ground. 

Evelyn started. Peony was off, beyond all hope 
of recapture. He had pulled her in so violently as to 
cause her to swerve, and, her foot coming in contact 
with a large loose stone, she had stumbled, shooting 


THE IDES OF MATCH 


213 

her rider over her head. This part of the hillside 
was covered with scattered stones, crumbled from a 
low ruined wall, and, when Peony got up, he saw 
that both knees were badly cut. This inspired him 
with a new terror : if Hope’s head should have come 
in violent contact with such a stone ! 

Peony was so trembling, so meek and depressed 
by her fright that he had led her to one side, and left 
her standing, head drooped, and sweating sides, 
and, with no further delay, abandoned himself to the 
task of attending Miss Merrion. 

Now she was gone. On the whole, perhaps it was 
as well. They would have been obliged to lead her, 
and, terrified as she was by the thunder, she might 
have been an emphatic hindrance. But her departure 
roused him to look at his own horse, which stood, 
however, obediently where he had left it, its bridle 
hitched to a projecting stone on the top of the wall. 
It raised its head, and, with distended nostrils, 
sniffed the air and trembled, but it remained quiet. 

He had never in his life felt so agitated, so per- 
plexed, so stirred, through and through, as at this 
moment. It had not struck him, as it might have 
done, that Hope Merrion would infallibly reject any 
overtures of help from him. His own forced coldness 
had so instantly deserted him at sight of her peril — 
his long-stifled fierce heart had flamed up so vigor- 
ously — he had so bent all his indomitable will, all his 
terrible persistency on the idea of serving her at all 
risks, that he had well-nigh forgotten the feud that 
existed between them. 

When her glorious eyes opened upon his, the 
expression she had seen there had been one of pas- 
sionate thankfulness. Fool that he was ! Thrice 
fool ! He had burnt his ships. Poor wretch ! by 
offering her that one marked, gratuitous insult, the 
intention of which could not be mistaken, he had 
thought to end it all at one blow : because, to have 
her standing there in the moonlight holding out her 
hand, had been torture too desperate, too acute for 


214 


THE IDES OF MATCH. 


him to bear. Loyalty to his betrothed, loyalty to his 
particular friend, — how was it to be kept if Hope and 
he were reconciled ? 

And so he had done it, and so he had gained this 
satisfaction of having wantonly deprived himself of 
the right to help her, of the right even to offer her the 
common services of humanity. She recoiled from 
him as from one unworthy to touch her : and it was 
only what he might have expected. 

Well, the others would be up directly ; he could 
resign her alive, and not much hurt, into the hands 
of those she loved ; only all his life long he could hug 
to his heart the blessed consciousness of having saved 
her, of having been quickest of all those there to fol- 
low her : no one could rob him of that satisfaction. 

He went up to his horse, patted it and soothed it, 
with one eye on the gap between the ridges, where 
every moment he expected to see some of the party 
appear, the other on the forlorn little figure seated 
bareheaded on the low wall, her face hidden in her 
hands. 

He could not bear the sight ; physically, it hurt him 
to see her ; there, so weak, so in need of help, and yet 
divided from him by so impassable a barrier. 

He strode up to her. 

“ Miss Merrion, are you hurt ? ” 

No answer. 

“Do you feel pain anywhere?” 

Still no reply. 

“For God’s sake speak to me ! ” he cried, suddenly 
breaking out, words seeming to rush to his lips with- 
out his own will. ‘ ‘ Curse me, if you want to, but 
say something, — tell me if you feel pain.” 

She moved her hands away from her white face. 
Oh, God ! how it went to his heart, that iron compres- 
sion of the sweet little mouth ! 

“Go away,” she said, with her eyes blazing upon 
him. “I would rather die alone here than have you 
with me.” 

“Would you ?” he said, recoiling with a start, and 


THE IDES OF MATCH, 


215 

he put his hand over his eyes, — “would you? Oh, 
my God ! ” 

There was a moments pause, then again the cloud 
was rent, and again the artillery of heaven rattled in 
the hills. The first great heavy drops of the rain 
that was coming were dashed in Evelyn’s haggard 
face. No time was to be lost, he must get her shel- 
tered somehow, somewhere, if not with her will, 
then against it ; and, as he mentally measured his 
strength against hers, he smiled. 

Hastily he looked along the way he had come : 
there was no sign of any human thing approaching. 
At the top of his speed he ran to the summit of the 
ridge on whose slope they stood, and gazed around. 
The sight was terrible. Purple masses of swollen 
cloud dragged themselves over the bosom of the 
moor, shutting out the distances altogether : no living 
creature was in sight ; at about a mile’s distance he 
could see that it was already raining with tropical 
fury, and bearing down upon them with frightful 
speed. The drops stood out on his forehead as he 
wondered what on earth he was to do to shelter her. 
To be drenched through, so many miles from all hope 
of being able to dry or change her clothes, might kill 
her. 

Ah ! it was not over yet. It was still his mission, 
his glorious privilege to take care of her. Even in all 
his perplexity, anxiety, agony of mind, he had leisure 
to revel in the grand thought, that, in her dire need, 
she was absolutely dependent upon him. The thought 
was life. It seemed to inspire him with the courage, 
strength, wits of twenty men. 

As his keen eyes flashed round their inquiring 
glances on all hands, he spied something which, in 
the strange gloom, looked like a bit of ruined castle — 
a piece of crumbling masonry in grey stone. What- 
ever it was, there was more hope of shelter there than 
on the open hillside. To get her there was the im- 
mediate thing to do. He was at her side in far less 
time than it takes to tell it, 


2l6 


THE IDES OF MARCH 


“The rain is coming,” he said, panting; “we 
must shelter till it is over. Come this way, or you 
will be wet through.” 

“ I will go nowhere with you,” she cried, recoiling 
from him. “If you really wanted to help me, you 
would try to find one of my friends , instead of in- 
sulting me by forcing yourself upon me. ” 

“There is nobody to be seen, far or near,” said 
Evelyn, decisively. “ They are probably taking 
shelter from the storm, and so must you. I don’t 
care whether you like it or not — you must come with 
me.” 

“I will not! ” she cried, in real fear; “ I will be 
drenched to the skin first ! Go away and leave me ! ” 

The heavy rain dashed in her lovely, wilful face. 
Evelyn's eyes grew very bright ; he pulled off his 
rough tweed coat. 

“You will put this on,” he said to her, calmly. 

“I will not — I will not stir ! I hate you!” 

“I daresay,” he answered, between his teeth, “ I 
daresay you do ; but you shall do as I tell you. I 
am stronger than you, and I will make you do it.” 

In a moment the coat was on her, she scarcely 
knew how ; a cap, which he pulled from the pocket 
of it, covered her bare head, and then he caught her 
hand and ran. Outraged pride, fury, fear made her 
gasp, and sob, and tremble. On they ran, down the 
hill, towards the building, the situation of which 
Evelyn had clearly noted. 

Lo ! between it and them flowed a shallow brook- 
let, which fed the stream lower down. He was in a 
mood not to be hindered now. He caught Hope in 
his arms, waded warily through the water, and dashed 
up the ascent on the other side. Nor did he pause 
until he had entered the ruined cottage, for such it 
proved to be, and could set her down upon a dry 
floor, with a tolerably sound roof over her head. 

He rested against the wall a moment, panting for 
breath, was but instantly aroused by the expression of 
Hope’s face, He had set her gently on her feet, for 


THE IDES OF MARCH 


217 


he could not lay her down on the bare floor of beaten 
earth ; but she seemed as if bewildered, or not know- 
ing where she was. She stretched out her hands, grop- 
ing as for support. He started forward and caught her 
just in time, for everything was swimming round her, 
and she clutched his shirt-sleeve involuntarily, even 
while crying, excitedly, 

“ Lay me down — lay me down on the floor ! ” 

He did so, with a stone for a pillow. Tenderly he 
let the little curly head rest upon it, and arranged her 
with as little discomfort as possible. 

“You will not be afraid of being left alone a few 
minutes? I want to fetch my horse,” he whispered. 

She shook her head. 

“You will stay here while I go ? ” 

“Yes.” 

He rose, and went out into the deluge. The rain 
was literally tearing up the smoking ground in its 
fury. Gaitered though he was, his boots were already 
full of water from wading the brook. In another 
minute he had not one dry thread upon him. He 
cared nothing at all about it ; his veins were filled 
with a new fire, his heart with a great strength. He 
ran as though he had wings to his feet, till he reached 
the place where stood the patient hunter, presenting 
a truly dismal appearance in his dripping condition. 
Springing on his back, Evelyn galloped him through 
the brook, and tethered him safely in the other room 
of the cottage, the roof of which was still water-tight 
in places. 

He busied himself for awhile with taking off the 
saddle, and giving the horse a scrape down with a 
bit of rusty iron which he found. Then he made a 
somewhat abortive attempt to dry his own short, 
dark locks with a pocket handkerchief, as the water 
which continually trickled down his forehead, and 
dripped from the tip of his nose, impeded the dis- 
tinctness of his vision. 

He glanced through the open doorway at the 
motionless girl on the ground, gave himself a vigor- 


THE IDES OF MATCH. 


2 18 

ous shake or two, and wondered what he had better 
do next. 

The first move was to consult his watch, and his 
relief was great when he saw that it was only a 
quarter to four. It was not dusk till seven — three 
hours of daylight were before them, so he judged it 
might be safe to wait half an hour, at least, to give 
the thunder and rain a chance of abating. 

He felt decidedly anxious, for he did not know in 
the least where they were. Mollie s shooting lay in 
quite a different direction, and he had never, till that 
day, been anywhere near Rushing Ghyl ; however, 
from that point, he did not doubt being able to find 
his way home, and thought it more than likely that 
the party they had lost would shelter somewhere 
near, and await their return. The difficulty was, to 
get back to the place whence Peony had started on 
her wild career. In the headlong haste of his pur- 
suit, he had scarcely noticed the direction taken, nor 
could he recall any landmarks which they had passed. 
Every faculty had been so concentrated on the safety 
of the girl before him, he had heeded nothing else, 
nor had he ever doubted that some of the others were 
following him. On reflection, he had no idea of the 
distance traversed, nor of the time taken to get over 
the ground. It had seemed a very long way ; but, 
as it was still so early, he was forced to believe that 
they could not have come so far as he had imagined. 
There was still a chance that one of the others might 
succeed in finding them ; failing that, a sudden hope- 
ful thought darted into his mind — there was the river ! 
According to all his calculations, this must be the 
stream which flowed from Rushing Ghyl ; they had, 
therefore, only to follow it upwards, to arrive, sooner 
or later, at the point whence they started. Certainly, 
under these circumstances, they could afford to give 
the weather a chance of mending. It must be a 
terrible risk to expose any girl to the present rain — 
less only, he decided, than the risk of being overtaken 


THE IDES OF MATCH. 


219 

by total darkness in an unknown country. There 
was no moon, as he knew. 

The idea of mounting, and riding up the river bank 
to join the others, and tell them of her safety, now 
occurred to him. Dare he leave her — his charge — in 
such a wild, lonely, unfriendly spot? He hardly 
knew. 

Approaching the doorway, he looked in again upon 
her. His heart ached for her, he knew that she ought 
to be warmed, fed, and comforted, and he was so 
powerless to do either ; he wished he were one of 
those thoughtful men who always carry about a 
brandy flask, for contingencies. 

As he gazed upon her, all the tenderness of his 
whole nature kindled, he detected a slight shaking of 
the shoulders, and the sound of a suppressed sob. 
He could stand it no longer. Venturing in, he knelt 
down beside her, and gently drew away her hands 
from her face. 


CHAPTER XXV. 

IT GROWS DARK. 

A moment after, and hands unseen 
Were hanging the night around us fast. 

Robert Browning. 

“ Why are you so unhappy? ” he asked, pleadingly. 

“ Oh, go away ! Please go away,” was her bitter, 
sobbing cry. 

“ I can’t! I will not!” he asserted, mutinously, 
“ don’t ask me to leave you. I swear I will not speak 
to you, if that distresses you — only let me be near 
you, and ready at a moment’s notice to render you 
any service you may need.” 

“Don’t touch me ! ” she said, moving further from 


220 


THE IDES OF MARCH. 


him. “To be left alone is all I ask. I cannot bear 
you to be near me. Go as far away as you can.” 

“ Out into the storm ? ” he asked, bitterly. 

“Oh, no,” she said, “ not that ! ” and after a little 
pause, “no, not that — I am too selfish.” 

‘ ‘ What had I to expect ? ” he groaned. “ It is right 
you should treat me like a brute. I accept my punish- 
ment ; you are just. ” 

He rose from her side and moved away. His very 
soul seemed scorched with the yearning, the craving 
which possessed him to speak out — to give her her 
revenge, to tell her the biter was bit, and that he loved 
her. 

Loved her ? 

Not till now had he owned it to himself in straight- 
forward words. Loved her ? Rather, he worshipped 
her ! Oh, to tell her so ! To be free to go and cast 
his homage, manhood, life, strength, all he had, or 
was, at the feet of the little humbled, weak creature 
who lay there so still, so sad ! 

The variety of conflicting feeling which surged up 
in his heart maddened him. He no longer tried to 
struggle against this overmastering love, nor to deny 
it. He could only, as it were, stand face to face with 
it, regarding it with a mixture of horror and a new 
secret joy. 

He loved her, but his traitor tongue must never tell 
her so ; he was not free, but bound. He had forced 
a promise — a confession of love — from innocent Leo, 
and he was no longer his own, but hers. 

And so she, this Hope — whom he had so injured 
and so adored — must lie and weep upon the ground ; 
he might not lift her tender body from the hard earth, 
nor rest her weary little head, with its soft, damp, 
brown curls, against what seemed its natural resting- 
place — his heart. But oh ! he cried out in his blind 
folly, might they not be friends ? 

Ah ! she too had wished to be friends ; and her little 
modest effort towards reconciliation had been met 
with insult, His misery was approaching a climax. 


THE IDES OF MARCH. 2 i I 

He was standing before the forsaken hearthstone, 
overgrown with white flowering nettles. On their 
coarse leaves fell heavily two drops which had never 
come from the skies. He started, moved to the 
broken, crumbling window-sill, knelt on the floor, and 
hid his face in his hands ; his broad shoulders shook 
with the passions which rent him. 

He had never been able to understand men being 
in love ; and now it appeared as if that injured divinity 
were determined to give so presumptuous a mortal a 
taste of his sovereign might. It seemed as if invisible 
cords were drawing him, invisible hands urginghim, 
to fling his honour to the winds, to forget Leo Forde, 
to tell Hope Merrion that he loved her. He was 
obliged to grasp the rough stones with his hands to 
keep back the torrent of words which rushed to his 
lips, the great cry of his long stifled heart. 

He prayed silently. The paroxysm passed away ; 
the soldier returned to his duty. She was here, in 
his care, this tender, defenceless girl. He was bound, 
by every claim of manliness and chivalry, to keep 
his own feelings in the background, whatever they 
might be, to think only of her. 

He was roused from his reverie by a startled 
cry. 

“Major Westmorland ! Major Westmorland ! Are 
you gone ? ” 

He was on his feet in an instant. 

“No, no ! I am here — not so far off.” 

“ Oh, I was afraid you had gone away and left me 
alone ! ” 

“ Not quite such a brute as that,” he said, huskily. 

She raised herself painfully on one arm. 

“ Oh, I am so stiff — I ache so.” 

“ I would have made you more comfortable if you 
would have allowed me,” he suggested, humbly. 
“ Will you not let me try ? ” 

“ Help me to stand up, please.” 

He did so, his heart throbbing excitedly as he raised 
her. She seemed unable to support all her weight at 


222 


THE IDES OF MARCH. 


first, but, after a minute, disengaged herself from him 
and walked to the window. 

“ How fast it rains ! ” she said ; “ but I am bettei 
— well again now. I think we ought to find the 
others ; where are we, do you know ? ” 

“I have a pretty fair idea,” he said, speaking as 
encouragingly as he could to console her. ‘ ‘ I think 
I can take you back to — your friends in safety. 1 
fancy they will, if possible, remain in the vicinity of 
Rushing Ghyl — I heard them speak, just before your 
mare bolted, of a place near where there was shelter ; 
and they probably feel that we shall be more likely 
to meet there than wandering about in the moor. ” 

As he spoke, he came a little nearer to where she 
stood, and he saw her flinch. The hot colour tingled 
in his face ; she was indeed avenging her wrongs 
with pitiless rigour. 

“You say,” he resumed, after a pause of deep 
mortification, “that you feel better? You think you 
are not much hurt ? ” 

“I am sure I am not hurt at all. I feel — all right,” 
she said weakly, but determinedly. “Oh, why will 
not this rain cease ? ” she added, wringing together 
her hands feverishly, and standing with her back to 
him. 

“I think, as you find my company so intolerable, 
that it will be best for me to take my horse, leave 
you here, and ride to Rushing Ghyl to fetch one of 
your — friends. I am sure I can find the way.” 

“If you will be so kind, I think it will be best,” 
she answered, with dignity. 

With swelling heart he went into the next room 
and returned, carrying his saddle. Near the wall, in 
the most sheltered part of the mean, draughty place, 
was a heap of stones. Arranging these with some 
care in the form of a seat, he placed the saddle upon 
them upside down. 

“Now,” he said, “I think, if you will sit here, you 
will be as comfortable as I can make you. I will 
arrange some stones as a footstool for you, ” 


THE IDES OF MARCH. 


223 

Turning slowly, she looked first at his arrange- 
ments then at him, hesitatingly. 

“But you — you will have no saddle/' she faltered. 

“It makes no difference to me,” he replied, in a 
hard voice. 

The fire, the strength which had inspired him, had 
all died down, leaving him weary, stiff, and cold ; 
his features, always decided, looked very set and 
haggard. He stepped, rather ostentatiously, as far 
from her as he could, and waited. She was feeling 
so weak that any kind of seat was inviting to her 
eyes ; she crept towards it and sat down. 

Kneeling before her, he arranged some stones to 
keep her feet from the cold floor, and then rose. 

“I shall be as quick as I can ; good-bye,” he said. 

“ Good-bye,” she replied, not looking at him. 

And then it seemed too cruel, too rude to let him 
go like this — without a “Thank you.” Whatever it 
cost her, she must say something. 

“Major Westmorland ” 

He turned, about to enter the other room, and 
waited in the doorway. 

“I want to thank you.” 

“Oh — what for?” he asked, grimly. 

“What you have done for me ” 

“Nonsense. I would rather hear you say some- 
thing else,” — his great chest heaving — “rather hear 
you forgive me than thank me . . . But you won't 
do that ! ” 

“I think,” she said, very unsteadily, “that you 
have earned forgiveness : see here . . . the very 
coat off your back ! Could Christian charity go 
further ? ” 

For a moment his grey eyes lighted up with a 
wonderful new gleam ; then once more the light 
sank out of them. 

“Ah ! ” he said, sadly, “the score you have against 
me can’t be wiped out so easily. I'm not such a fool 
as to think so ; but, all the same, thanks for speaking 
kindly to me — it is more than I deserve.” 


224 


THE IDES OF MARCH. 


He turned away too suddenly to see the rush of 
tears in her eyes. 

Afraid to trust himself a moment longer, he hur- 
riedly let his horse loose, and led it out of the cot- 
tage, — not without difficulty, the doorway was so 
low. 

Just as he was mounted and turning away, a cry 
recalled him. Looking back, he saw Hope in the 
doorway, beckoning him to stop. He rode up to 
her. 

‘ * You must not go,” she said, trembling, half-cry- 
ing. “I don’t know how it is, nor why I should be 
so foolish, but I cannot be left alone — not all alone ! 
I don’t like to have you here, but I cannot bear to 
have you go ! . . . . What am I saying? Yes, go 1 
Go, of course ! Take no notice of what I say — you 
must go ! ” 

The rain pelted down upon him as he sat, coatless, 
on the bare-backed horse, before this inconsiderate 
young woman. 

“Am I to go or stay? I wait your orders,” he 
said. 

“Stay! ’’she cried, after a short struggle, and, 
turning, ran back to the cottage, sinking upon the 
seat he had provided. 

He patiently dismounted once more, shaking the 
rain from his clothes, and indulging vehemently in a 
few arm exercises by way of keeping up the circu- 
lation. Then he went and stood as close as he could 
to the horse’s warm side, and leaned his arm upon it. 

His eyes looked wearily out upon the desolate, 
dripping prospect and saturated ground. It was 
pouring so fast that he believed it must soon abate. 
A little longer waiting was his portion ; yet he felt 
that it would have been wiser to go. 

It seemed to him as though thoughts, hopes, 
desires, regrets, mad longings were crowded into 
these moments, enough to last him all his weary 
future life through. His life had been so uneventful ! 
never happy, but never miserable. His father’s 


THE IDES OF MATCH 


225 


hardly veiled scorn of his character and attainments, 
joined to a disposition sensitive and shrinking, and 
a want of self-assertion almost criminal, had caused 
him always, as a matter of course, to take a back 
seat everywhere. He had escaped the disagreeables 
which always result to a more impulsive, active 
spirit, but he had also missed the pleasures. He had, 
in truth, never felt very violently about anything or 
anybody, until he met Miss Merrion. He knew 
now, that it was her strange, unexpected, undeniable 
power to make him feel which had inspired him with 
so hot an antagonism. Into the man’s very soul 
these unfathomable eyes had pierced. They had 
awakened sensations which he never knew he 
possessed. The very sound of her voice, the very 
sight of her slight figure, leaning daintily back in a 
basket chair, even the scent of the violets she nearly 
always wore, seemed to touch new springs of being, 
to show him new possibilities of a happiness he had 
sometimes vaguely longed for, but never seriously 
believed in. 

Well ! Even in the depths of his miserable con- 
sciousness that in some way his life was going 
‘horridly wrong, even in the throes of the wonderful 
new knowledge that he could, and did love, desper- 
ately and passionately — the man’s long cherished 
self-control stood him in good stead. He faced the 
future resolutely. 

He loved a woman who did not love him — who 
shrank from his touch, even from his presence in her 
sight. 

Very good : that love should and must be utterly 
crushed. He could do it, and would do it, at what- 
ever cost. His whole life, thoughts, and cares 
should be given to the girl who was to be his wife. 
To-day’s brief mutiny of thought should be trampled 
ruthlessly out of existence. To do his duty had 
always seemed so simply, obviously right ; was he 
to shrink now because such duty was hard? He — a 
soldier ? 


i5 


226 


THE IDES OF MARCH. 


He lifted his face again from where he had hidden 
it, in his horse’s neck. The aspect of the weather 
alarmed him greatly. 

The character of the rain had changed from 
streaming thunder torrents to a quiet, steady down- 
pour. All around them the sky had closed in to a 
uniform leaden hue. It looked like a wet night. 

Moreover, it was growing so dark. Had he not 
known otherwise, he would almost have imagined 
that the dusk was falling. He snatched out his 
watch, and his heart seemed to jump to his throat as 
he did so. It was the same time as when he last 
looked at it — a quarter to four. 

It had stopped, of course ! 

He bitterly called himself a fool, an arrant fool, 
not to suspect that it must be wrong, when he looked 
at it first ; he might have known, by the time they 
started, that it could not possibly have been so early. 
Thinking over it again, he came to the conclusion 
that it must have been five o’clock at least when he 
first consulted it. It was now, then, almost six. In 
an hour it would be quite dark. 

The perspiration stood on his forehead. After all 
his resolutions to take care of her, he had played the 
fool, he told himself, and allowed his own feelings to 
make him forgetful. 

Rain or no rain, they must start at once now, or 
she would have to pass the night in that horrible 
place. 

“ Oh, that I may only be able to get her to Rush- 
ing Ghyl in safety ! ” he cried, in an agony, to his 
own heart, as he entered the other room. 

Hope was sitting with her chin resting in her 
hands, her eyes fixed on the ground. 

“We must start at once,” he hurriedly said, “ rain 
or not. It is growing so late.” 

She struggled to her feet, evidently stiff and 
bruised, but faced him pluckily. 

4 ‘ It is later than I thought,” he confessed, hurriedly. 
“My watch had stopped.” 


THE IDES OF MARCH 


22 7 

“Is it growing dark ?” she asked, apprehensively. 

“I am afraid so,” faltered he, looking at her with 
a world of self-reproach in his great grey eyes. 

She caught the look and tone, and going up to 
him, held out her hand. 

“I am not afraid,” said she, simply. 

So, for the first time, Hope Merrion and Evelyn 
Westmorland clasped hands. 

Neither spoke, nor did he dare to hold his treasure 
long. Reverently he let it go, and in an instant was 
re-saddling the hunter, with new energy in his 
movements, new life in his heart 


CHAPTER XXVI. 

HOW THEY PARTED. 

A turn and we stand in the heart of things ; 

The woods are around us, heaped and dim. 

Robert Browning. 

The sudden presence of great anxiety made a differ- 
ence in the Major’s feelings, did away with self-con- 
sciousness. He simply wrapped Hope up as if she 
were six years old, and he her nurse ; tying the cloth- 
cap on her head by means of his handkerchief which 
he fastened in a bow under her chin, buttoning his 
coat tightly round her and turning up the collar. 

“Oh, Major Westmorland, do take your coat,” she 
pleaded, “ you will catch your death ! ” 

“Nothing of the kind,” he replied, shortly, as he 
led her out into the rainy twilight, and lifted her upon 
the tall hunter. 

“You can manage without the pommel?” he 
asked. 

“Yes, oh, yes, I think so.” 


228 the ides of march 

He lifted his face a moment to her, when she was 
mounted. 

‘ ‘ Keep up your spirits ; please God, I'll bring you 
home safely/' he said, earnestly. 

“You are very good to me," she answered, humbly. 

He set his face like a flint, and they went forward. 
The outlook might have depressed the stoutest heart. 
So low did the clouds hang that they could only see 
quite a short way in front of them ; the rain still fell 
fast, and the ground was like a sponge. 

Evelyn went doggedly ahead. He was obliged 
to keep quite near the stream, and it soon became 
apparent that it wound in and out most tediously ; 
moreover, the point for which Peony had made, ap- 
peared to be the only bit where the banks were not 
steep. This involved a continual and most tiring 
scrambling up hills and down again, much of which 
he thought they might have avoided, had he been able 
to see further before him. 

However, on he went, as fast as he could move 
over the heavy, soaked ground, spurred on by a ter- 
rible anxiety, running a race with the approaching 
night. To converse was impossible, only every now 
and then he turned up his face to ask the question, 

‘ ‘ Are you all right ? ” 

To which the brave voice answered at once, 

“Yes, all right, thank you." 

At the end of half-an-hour, to Evelyn's thankful- 
ness, a slight increase in the light was apparent, the 
clouds seemed to be less dense. Part of the low trail- 
ing vapours swept away, revealing before them an ap- 
parently endless waste of dull, monotonous frowning 
moor. The rain also did not fall so heavily. 

“Courage!" he said, cheerily, “it is going to 
clear ! " 

The hope was illusive. Another canopy of cloud- 
swept over the brighter space, and brought fresh 
rain with it. The dusk fell deeper and deeper, and 
Evelyn began to grow frantic. 

What was he to do ? What plan could he possibly 


THE IDES OF MARCH 


229 

think of, to shelter and protect his treasure ? His 
mind was torn with conflicting thoughts — would it 
have been wiser to remain where they were, after all ? 
Might they not wander all night in this waste howl- 
ing wilderness, with the rain dripping on their heads ? 
How much more could she bear ? Women were so 
tender, he knew. 

At this point the horse put his foot into a hole, and 
stumbled. The light was so bad that Evelyn could 
not see where he was treading ; he foresaw that, in 
half an hour, they would be "wrapped in the utter 
gloom of a rainy, moonless night. 

He almost thought it must be a nightmare, from 
which he should awake soon, so strange, so impro- 
bable did the whole matter appear. 

That Hope and he should have become so utterly 
cut off and separated from their fellows ; that this 
fearful storm should have immediately followed ; 
that his watch, usually entirely to be relied upon, 
should stop to-day of all days ! 

He was at his wits’ end. To all appearance, they 
were as far from the bridge whence they had started, 
as ever ; and they had been hurrying along for an 
hour mostly at a jog-trot. They must have covered 
nearly five miles. 

They mounted, as his reflections reached this pitch, 
to the top of a pretty steep hillock, and he saw, as 
soon as he gained the summit, that about a hundred 
yards ahead the river emerged from a thick, dark 
wood. 

Here, indeed, the darkness would be profound, yet 
to enter this wood seemed the only thing to do, for 
lose sight of the water he dared not, and the extent 
of the plantation seemed considerable — it reached as 
far as the gathering obscurity allowed his eye to 
follow it. 

On gaining the spot, a ray of hope kindled in his 
heart ; for he at once saw that there was a tolerably 
well-trodden footpath under the trees, near the river s 
side. Moreover, so thick were the branches above 


THE IDES OF MARCH. 


23O 

that very little rain penetrated, and he was able to 
unscrew his aching features, distorted with an hour's 
fruitless endeavouring to see with his eyes shut. 

“Are you afraid?” he asked, in a low voice, as 
the little cavalcade plunged into the shadows. 

“No,” replied the low, steadfast voice, “not with 
you. ” 

The strength of those words urged him on for a 
quarter of an hour in patient discomfort, feeling his 
way in darkness which grew continually darker. 
The path and the stream parted company, the path 
striking into the woods, and the trees growing so 
thickly each side of it that to forsake the track and 
plunge into the wood seemed likely to be almost im- 
possible. 

There was nothing for it but to follow this path, he 
thought — it must lead somewhere. 

Hope saw that he halted. 

“You are very tired,” said she, gently. 

“Oh ! not tired — not tired, only so nonplussed,” 
he said, in most depressed accents. “What are we 
to do ? ” 

“You must follow the path,” she said; “it must 
bring us out somewhere. Courage a little longer. ” 

He went on without another word ; and in about 
ten minutes his anxiously peering eyes saw a sight 
which made him cry aloud in the excess of his relief. 

* ‘ Thank God ! There’s a light ! ” 

“A light?” cried Hope, tremulously. “Oh, yes ! 
I see it ; ” and she began to shed a few tears out of 
sheer weakness. 

They hastened onwards, with hearts too full for 
further speech, towards the friendly ray. As they 
drew nearer, the trees grew less dense, and presently, 
in the midst of a small clearing, they stumbled on 
what seemed to the bewildered Major more like an 
Esquimaux village than anything he had ever seen. 
A collection of six mounds made of earth and boughs 
of trees placed close together, the tallest not as high 
as Evelyn’s head, and the whole railed in by a roughly 


THE IDES OF MARCH 


231 

constructed fence. From the open entrance of one of 
these came the light of a lamp and the glow of a coke 
fire. Three or four children of various ages stood 
about, apparently watching some culinary operation ; 
a woman stooped over the fire. 

“ Well, I’ll be shot ! ” cried the Major, as he beheld 
this scene. “What on earth is it?” 

They were charcoal-burners’ huts ; but, oddly 
enough, he had never seen such things. Hope had, 
and she told him what they were. 

Meanwhile, the interest of the natives was, of 
course, strongly excited. Out of the gloom of the 
pitch-dark evening, a knight, a lady, and a steed 
suddenly flashed from the dim recesses of the wood. 
The youngest, to whom the said wood was doubtless 
an abode of bogies and other bugbears of a childish 
imagination, began to whimper. 

“Now, what are you arterwith Teddie there, Sam, 
you varmint ? ” said the mother from within. 

“Moder, ’ere’s a lady and a gennleman,” shrilly 
cried an elder olive-branch. 

“ Don’t tell the childer no lies, ’Lizbeth. I’m 
ashamed on yer.” 

“Moder, there do be a lady an’ a gennleman on 
an ’orse, a great big ’orse ! ” vociferated Sam, dancing 
on his bare feet. 

The baby set to work to yell at the full pitch of its 
lungs ; the mother rose, and came out of the hovel, 
bringing her light with her. So thick was the foliage 
of the trees under which the huts were built that nei- 
ther rain nor wind could penetrate. She was a woman 
with a sweet and serious face, and a look of be- 
ing above her lowly position — clean and fairly neat, 
as also were the healthy-looking children, except the 
goggle-eyed baby, who, after the fashion of his class, 
was covered with tears and grime. 

Evelyn addressed her eagerly. 

“Can you tell me how far we are from Rushing 
Ghyl ? We have lost our way,” he said, hoarsely. 

“Dear!” said the woman, with a compassionate 


232 


THE IDES OF MARCH 


look at Hope. “Its about three miles to Rushing 
Ghyl from here, sir. ” 

Three miles ! And, after that, seven more across 
the open moor ! He dared not risk it. 

‘ ‘ Miss Merrion, ” he said, in a low tone, ‘ ‘ do you 
feel as if you could wait a while in this place ? ” 

“Oh, I don’t know,” said Hope, faintly. “I 
think I must. I — don’t feel as if I could go on any 
further. ” 

He touched her hand. It was icy cold. 

“ Have you anything to eat or drink ? ” he hurriedly 
asked the woman. ‘ 1 Any bread ? or milk ? ” 

“ I’ve bread, sir, and a drop o’ milk ; but not more 
than enough for a cup of tea or so.” 

Evelyn lifted Hope from the saddle, and her ex- 
hausted head drooped wearily against him. 

“She is so wet and cold,” he said. “Now, chil- 
dren, will you see if you can help the lady ! ” 

“Ay,” said the children, herding gravely in a group, 
but expressing much good-will with their eyes. 

“Let her sit by the fire, sir,” said the sweet-faced 
woman ; and Evelyn was astonished to see how in- 
geniously the interlacing boughs lined the hut, and 
how clean was the interior. There was a chair in the 
quaint place, and he seated Hope upon it, looking 
anxiously at her ashy face, with its tendrils of for- 
lorn, wet hair, and dripping cap. 

The woman, who could not anyhow have entered 
the hut while Hope and Evelyn were both inside, 
produced a rough but clean towel and handed it to the 
strange gentleman, who thanked her abruptly, and as 
he tenderly removed the lady’s wet headgear, asked 
if the kettle boiled. 

It did. The woman proved sensible, eager and 
helpful. In a very few minutes Hope had swallowed 
some hot tea and a small piece of bread. 

“She’s wet through, sir — she did ought to have 
everything took off of her,” earnestly said their hos- 
tess. “Couldn’t you leave her to me, sir? ” 

Evelyn looked doubtfully at the mean, wretched 


THE IDES OF MARCH. 


233 

place ; then consideringly at the serene eyes of the 
speaker. 

“See here, sir,” she went on, simply, “my man 
ain't home to-night — he's burning over to Rossertleys, 
and sleeps on the farm. I'll sit up with the lady. I'd 
just lighted this bit o' fire to give the childer some hot 
porridge. That they shall have and Pollie’ll pack 'em 
all off to bed. Look ! " she produced two dark wool- 
len blankets, 1 1 1 was washin' all to-day till storm come, 
and these has been hangin' since yesterday, an’ as 
sweet as moor-breezes can make ’em. I'll bring in my 
mattress, an' roll 'er in these ; she can’t do no harm, 
I don’t think, sir. ” 

Evelyn turned to Hope. She was lying back in 
her chair with closed lids, and was holding his hand, 
probably unconscious that she held it. He knelt 
down by her. 

“ Miss Merrion ! ” 

Her eyes languidly opened. 

“Yes? I hear.” 

“ Will you stay here with Mrs. — Shepherd ? thanks ! 
— with Mrs. Shepherd, while I ride home as fast as 
horse will carry me to tell them you are safe ? ” 

She fixed her look upon him wistfully. 

“ Shall you be gone very long ? ” she whispered. 

“I will be as quick as I can — you know I will,” he 
said soothingly, his traitor heart leaping for joy, 
“ I would not leave you, but I think I must — I ought ! 
It will be nearly three hours before I can get back, I 
am afraid, as it is a strange road. You will let me 
go?” 

“ Yes.” 

“Good-bye,” he said. “ God bless and keep you.” 

“ Good-bye, ” she softly sighed; “and — and — you 
wont be long?” 

“ I promise not to linger a moment.” 

“Thank you. Please go now.” 

He lifted the hand he held, and laid his lips upon it. 
So much it was impossible to help.' Warmly, yet 
reverently, he kissed it, and laid it down upon her 


THE IDES OF MARCH . 


234 

knee as if with it, he renounced all hope, all happi- 
ness. 

“Drink a cup of tea before you go, sir,” said Mrs. 
Shepherd. 

He shook his head. 

‘ ‘ Keep it for her — make her drink some more, ” he 
said, unsteadily, as he put on the coat which had 
been sanctified by containing her little form. “ Only 
tell me the nearest way. ” 

The footpath, she told him, would bring him out 
upon the highroad leading to the very bridge where 
they had dismounted. The road was quite straight — 
he could not miss it. Putting a sovereign into her 
hand, he mounted again and rode off, feeling as 
though he left his life behind him. 

When he emerged from the wood, stars were vis- 
ible through rents, here and there, in the clouds. 
The white road was clearly distinguishable from the 
dark hedges, and the rain had ceased to fall. He 
was able to travel at the fastest pace his horse could 
command. 

As he dashed along, the sound of the hoofs crash- 
ing in the wet road, he caught sight of two mounted 
figures, apparently awaiting him at the top of the 
next hill. Then he heard a shout, which he answered 
as loud as his hoarseness would permit, and, on 
riding up, recognised Tom and Greville. 

“Where is she?” was the cry which broke from 
both — the only greeting he received, and, as he did 
not immediately answer, Greville added, ‘ * Good 
God! — You found her, surely? You know where 
she is ? ” 

“Yes,” gasped Evelyn, “ I know where she is.” 

“ Not killed ! She was not killed ! ” cried Tom, in 
tones that rent the Major’s heart. 

“No, no, Tom, my boy, not killed,” he hastened 
to assure him, “not even much hurt, as far as I have 
been able to judge. ” 

“Then where is she ? ” 

“About three miles from here, in a charcoal- 


THE IDES OF MARCH 


2 35 

burner’s hut,” he said wearily. 1 ‘ Where have you 

two come from ? ” 

“ Straight from Learning,” answered Tom. “ Mol- 
lie, Greville, and I have been scouring the moor till 
the dark fell so as to make it impossible to do 
more ; Forde, like a good fellow, took home the girls, 
— so she is safe ! Thank God ! But Mollie knew 
you would take care of her. ‘ She’s safe with West- 
morland,’ he kept on saying.” 

“Did he?” said Evelyn, with a sudden gladness, 
“did he say that ? But she is terribly exhausted, and 
has been much exposed to the rain — I did not know 
what to do for the best. We were sheltered in a 
ruined cottage. ” 

“ What!” cried Tom. 

“A ruined cottage near the river.” 

“Why — well ! — You mean Peony bolted all that 
way before you could stop her ? We never thought 
of looking so far as that! Those are the ruined 
mines ! What a mercy she did not go down a shaft ! ” 

“It must be five or six miles from here, I think?” 

“Quite.” 


CHAPTER XXVII. 

SHE HAS COUNTLESS VICTIMS. 

Worth how well, those dark grey eyes, 

That hair so dark and dear, how worth 
That a man should strive, and agonise 
And taste a veriest hell on earth 
For the hope of such a prize ! 

R. Browning. 

So all was over ; Evelyn had resigned his trust, the 
precious burden of sole responsibility for her safety 
was his no longer. Tom was for riding on at once 
to see with his owp eyes that she was safe, but the 


THE IDES OF MARCH 


236 

others dissuaded him from this. If Hope was having 
her things dried, he could not see her ; if she were 
asleep, she had better not be disturbed until the car- 
riage was there to take her home. Besides, neither 
Greville nor Westmorland knew the way back to 
Learning without him ; Greville, who would have 
given his eyes to go to her, was entirely at sea in a 
strange country. The best thing they could all do 
was to return home as fast as possible, relieve the 
anxiety of the others, and despatch the carriage at 
once to bring her back. 

On the way, he told a part of their adventures, but 
his great and increasing hoarseness made it impossible 
to say much. He was faint and weak with hunger, 
and his saturated clothes were agonisingly uncomfor- 
table. It seemed to him as if ages passed away dur- 
ing that dark, cold ride. A certain constraint was 
upon all three men. Tom and Greville, jealous of 
each other, were yet more earnest in their combined 
feeling of jealousy of Westmorland. To one or other 
of these two, her special devotees, it was manifest 
that the rescue of Miss Merrion should have belonged ; 
that it had been given to Westmorland, who cared 
nothing for Hope, and was undoubtedly on the brink of 
an engagement to Miss Forde, if not already plighted 
to her, was, as Greville discontentedly reflected, 
the unsatisfactory kind of thing which always does 
happen in real life. How much more dramatic and 
suitable it would have been, could he have followed 
and protected her, and so established that claim on 
her gratitude which would have bestowed so dainty 
a flavour of romance on their commonplace nine- 
teenth century courtship. It was certainly a most per- 
verse fate. 

This unexplained feeling of dissatisfaction weighed 
upon their spirits, and made them silent, only anxious 
to urge forward their horses, and expedite the starting 
of the relief party as soon as possible. 

At last the lights of the Manor House appeared, 
and scarcely had the latch of the drive gate clicked 


THE IDES OF MARCH. 


*37 

when the front door was opened, and the four anxious 
watchers appeared. 

Westmorland started guiltily as the lamplight fell 
on Leo’s pretty, wistful face, it was so long since she 
had been in his thoughts. 

At first, he had, scarcely time to greet her, for all 
his explanations had to be renewed, and the clamour 
of voices rendered it difficult for anybody to under- 
stand anything. The charcoal-burner’s settlement 
was, most fortunately, known to Mr. Lyster ; they 
had been there since the beginning of the summer, 
and were respectable people. The anxious servants 
flew to make ready the brougham, and fill it with 
wraps and restoratives. Peony had arrived home not 
an hour before, in a crushed, depressed, and limping 
state ; they were afraid she would have to be shot. 
So much Evelyn gathered ; also that Muriel and Leo 
had ridden home in the pouring rain with Richard 
Forde, that the others had scoured the moor till night- 
fall, hurried back to Learning to see if by any chance 
Evelyn had brought Hope back, and, finding that 
nothing had been heard of the missing pair, snatched 
a mouthful of food, and were off again. 

Every one seemed to be talking at once, the sound 
of the voices surged almost meaninglessly in the 
Major’s ears ; he felt unequal to describing or ex- 
plaining himself in any way, he could only reiterate 
that, so far as the fall was concerned, he did not think 
that Miss Merrion could be much hurt ; she stood, 
walked, ran immediately afterwards. 

“That is indeed something to be thankful for,” 
cried poor Mollie, intones of boundless relief. “Such 
an incident, such trouble, such a catastrophe, to spoil 
the happiness of your visit ! and I feel so responsible ! 
Well, Muriel, are you ready to set off? Shall you 
and I go and fetch Hope back ? ” 

“Oh, Mollie, let me come !” cried poor Tom, in 
accents of despair ; but this was decided against. 
There was no room for him in the carriage ; Mollie 
would not hear of his going outside, after all the cold 


THE IDES OF MATCH. 


238 

and rain to which he had been exposed. Greville 
felt himself taking an unkind delight in the knowledge 
that no one else was to be allowed the privilege which 
he knew he had no right to claim. 

“Meanwhile, we are all forgetting Major Westmor- 
land, ” said Muriel, as Mollie wrapped her cloak about 
her. “ Please to take him into the dining-room, Dr. 
Forde, and make him eat something, he must be 
dying of hunger. *’ 

Evelyn stood mute, a troubled expression on his 
face. He was thinking of his promise to Plope, in 
the queer little mud hut. She had made him promise 
to come back for her. He had foreseen, in his tem- 
porary oblivion of all things but himself and her, no 
difficulties in the way of fulfilling this assurance. 
Now, he plainly saw it to be out of the question. 
Why should he, of all the party, be desirous of going ? 
Mollie knew the place, so had need of no guide. 
Even Richard Forde, in his capacity as doctor, had a 
better right than he. And would she miss him ? 
Would she even mark his non-appearance? De- 
cidedly not ; true, in the absence of any other familiar 
face, she had seemed to cling to him, but, with 
Mollie and Muriel to comfort her, was it likely she 
should even remember his existence ? 

Oh, better — better so ! No more danger, no more 
anguish, if it could be avoided. If she did by chance 
bestow a thought upon him, it would be that he had 
not kept his word ; he had promised to return, and 
he had not returned. So best. Let her think so of 
him — she would not then feel bound to torture him 
with thanks or gratitude. Let this be the end. 
Never, while he lived, would he see her face 
again. 

“He is as hoarse as a raven, and hasn’t a dry 
thread on him,” interposed the doctor energetically. 
“Westmorland, go upstairs and change at once, if 
you don’t wish to have rheumatic fever — I’ll bring 
you something hot to drink. ” 

Evelyn looked meditatively down at the puddle 


THE IDES OF MARCH. 


239 

which had collected on the tesselated paving-stones 
where he stood. 

“I am rather wet,” he slowly observed. “Yes. 
I think, as — as I’m not wanted any more, I will go 
upstairs and change.” 

He moved towards the stairs, but, as he went, his 
eyes fell on Leo’s sweet, sympathetic face, looking 
eagerly at him, with tears swimming in her eyes. 
He made an effort to smile at her, even while he 
realised that the sight of her was acutely painful — 
just now. 

‘ ‘ I hope you will be no worse for your wetting, ” he 
said, constrainedly. “I am not fit to speak to you 
now, I must go and make myself respectable ” 

“In bed ! ” cried Richard, sharply, seizing his arm 
and dragging him off. “You want wringing out, 
like a sponge, I declare ! I never felt anything so 
saturated, in my life ! ” 

Evelyn obediently went with him, and submitted 
to the hot bath, the energetic rubbing, and the 
whisky which the doctor considered necessary. 

‘ ‘ But of course I am all right, ” he said, doggedly, 
“I am pretty tough, as you know, Forde. I shall 
not be a penny the worse for this to-morrow, — you 
will see ! What time do we leave here for the sta- 
tion ? ” 

‘ ‘ I really don’t think you ought to travel to- 
morrow. ” 

“ I mean to, so there is no need to waste breath,” 
declared Evelyn, rolling his now inconveniently hot 
person about in the large bed. “What a fuss to make 
about a trifle ! I’m all right, I tell you. ” 

Richard stood looking down upon him, thinking 
what a fine fellow he was, from a physical point of 
view, and also how incomprehensible from the moral 
standpoint. 

“Leo has been very anxious about you,” he re- 
marked, after a pause. 

‘ ‘ I am sorry to hear it, ” replied his patient, blush- 
ing like a girl. “It was most unfortunate, but un- 


THE IDES OF MARCH 


240 

avoidable, you see. I was the only member of the 
party who was mounted at the time. ” 

“Yes : that just made all the difference. I fancy 
Mr. Greville would have given something to be in 
your saddle. ” 

“ Greville ?” 

“Yes ; a good fellow I should say. Miss Merrion 
could hardly do better. ” 

Evelyn lay silent, his arms raised, his hands joined 
under his head. 

“ Oh — is that it ? ” he said at last. 

“Obvious enough, surely?” 

“Oh, yes — I suppose so.” 

“Because you are so unimpressionable, it does not 
follow that other people have no eyes,” laughed 
Richard. “Miss Merrion is more than attractive, 
she is bewitching ; they say she has countless 
victims. I only wonder that you have not suc- 
cumbed ; that Leo should have conquered when she 
was by, is an additional source of elation to me, I 
assure you.” 

Evelyn set his teeth and closed his eyes. The 
doctor had very unconsciously administered a tonic 
which began to work almost instantaneously. 

After he was left alone, the Major repeated those 
words over and over again, 

“ They say she has countless victims 

And one of these was Evelyn Westmorland, who, 
of all men, had best been armed against her fascina- 
tions. In the teeth of all that he knew from Disney, 
he had allowed this madness to overtake him. She 
had jilted his friend — that was the charge against 
her : which charge she had admitted. No new facts 
had transpired ; there was no reason why he should 
think better of her now than before. And yet 

He thought of the small sad face, the sweet lips so 
bravely set together, of the way in which she had 
shrunk from him, of the voice which had cried, “/ 
hate you! ” Had her conduct, from their first meeting, 
been that of a designing woman ? He thought not. 


THE IDES OF MARCH. 


241 


“ You fool,” he muttered, “what do you know of 
women ? ” 

But still he felt, still he owned to himself, in his 
exceeding truthfulness, that he would give everything 
but honour to hold her once, only once, in his proud 
arms — to have her eyes meet his once, only once, 
with a love that answered his own — to feel her 
damask cheek pressed against his sunburnt one, to 

clasp her close — closer Ah, God ! it was delirium. 

He was only a unit among countless victims— let him 
remember that ; and, meanwhile, there was consola- 
lation in the fact that no one knew of his madness. 
No one knew, nor ever should ; he had been pre- 
served — miraculously, as it seemed to him — from the 
sin of telling her. Had his trial lasted much longer, 
he confessed that it might have been otherwise. 

So he lay tossing and struggling and very miserable 
in his mental disquiet, till he heard the rumbling of 
wheels under his window. They were bringing her 
home. He sat up, listening. The sounds rose but 
faintly from the hall below. What were they all 
doing ? What an ass he felt, he unamiably told him- 
self, to be put to bed like a tired baby ; and it was 
only a quarter-past ten. He had a mind to get up 
and go downstairs. No ! At whatever cost, he 
would not see her again. 

He flung himself down among his pillows. Eagerly 
he strained his ears for fresh sounds, but his room 
was a long way from the stairs, and he could dis- 
tinguish nothing clearly. He lay very still, to catch 
the lightest footfall, but an oppressive silence reigned 
around, and he could not understand it. And sud- 
denly he was no longer in bed — what could have 
made him think so ? — he was leading a horse through 
the tangles of the wood, and the night was very dark. 
Leo sat on the horse, and she plaintively cried to him 
to take her home. 

“I never would have engaged myself to you, if I 
had known you would be so unkind,” she sobbed; 
and he could not comfort her, though he prom- 
16 


2 4 2 THE IDES OF MARCH. 

ised to take her home as soon as they had found 
Hope. 

“We must find her, you know — must find her/’ he 
whispered. “ Near here there was a break in the 
trees — a charcoal-burner’s hut ; she is there, waiting 
for me. I promised to come and fetch her. ” 

And now the strange, furze-thatched huts were 
before him, but dark ; all was dark within, and he 
beat against the door. What became of Leo and the 
horse he could not tell ; but a sweet-faced woman 
stood before him, and said, “Hush! she is asleep; 
you must not awaken her.” 

“ Let me in — let me in ! ” he cried, unheeding ; and 
she softly asked, 

“Can you be hard and bitter on such a night as 
this, so full of stars ? ” 

Frantically he set himself to climb the furze thatch, 
so as to reach his love through the window ; and, as 
he climbed, the wall stretched up higher and higher, 
he grew no nearer to the top for all his striving. The 
rain beat down upon him, the darkness was impene- 
trable, and he trembled, panting with his terrible 
efforts. At last he reached a little window, high and 
remote, and, clinging to the window-sill, looked 
through. 

A white shaft of moonlight streamed down an im- 
measurable distance, lighting up a cathedral aisle, 
and the narrow bed on which Hope lay, white and 
still. Upon her they had placed her anchor, wreathed 
in flowers : her little pale hands were folded over it. 

“ Hush ! ” said some one, “ come away ; they are 
going to shut up the coffin.” 

“Not till I have said good-bye to her,” he cried 
aloud, “ I tell you I will and must say good-bye to 
her first ! ” 

He sprang in, and felt himself falling, falling through 
an endless depth : when in his agonised ears there 
rang the sound of the hammer striking blows on 
Hope’s coffin : and with a hoarse, wild, desperate cry 
he leaped from his bed, and found himself standing 


THE IDES OF MARCH 


243 

on the floor, a cold sweat bursting out on his skin, 
his knees knocking under him. 

At the same instant Forde entered. 

‘ ‘ Did I startle you ? I did not know you were 
asleep,” he said. “What a yell you gave! Were 
you enjoying a nightmare ? ” 

“Ye-es,” gasped Evelyn, sinking upon the bed. 

‘ * What is it ? What has happened ? ” 

“I only looked in for a moment on my way to 
bed ; I thought you might be glad to know that Miss 
Merrion is quite wonderfully well — in fact, she is 
almost unhurt, and the charcoal-burner’s wife seems 
to be emphatically a trump.” 


CHAPTER XXVIII. 

A DISCARDED LOVER. 

Entre deux etres aussi complexes et aussi divers que l’homme et la 
femme, ce n’est pas trop de toute la vie pour se bien connaitre et 
s’ aimer dignement. 

Comte’s Philosophy. 

The cold weather which followed the thunderstorm 
seemed to change everything. The heavens were 
grey, the air chill, the first frost of the season had 
nipped the gay flowers in the gardens. 

Captain Edgar Disney anathematised all northern 
climates with the true fervour of the Briton lately 
returned from the tropics, as he stood on the draughty 
platform of Norchester station, awaiting, with much 
impatience, the arrival of the Doncaster train, with 
his horses and groom. 

They are very amusing studies, these Anglo-In- 
dians. You go to call upon one of them who is in 
England on furlough some lovely day in the begin- 


244 


THE IDES OF MARCH. 


ning of summer. The weather is so genial, you are 
revelling in it, blooming, expanding in the welcome 
warmth. You find the Anglo-Indian sitting in a 
darkened room, on the cool side of the house, ice- 
water bandage on his brow, iced drinks at his side ; 
the page-boy, with scarlet countenance, is lustily 
agitating two large fans, designed to remind the 
sufferer of a punkah : an enormous white umbrella 
and a bark helmet with a puggereelie on the ground. 

“Execrable climate ! ” pants the victim, “far hot- 
ter than I ever felt in Calcutta ! Suicide to go about in 
the broiling sun as you fools of English do ! No ar- 
rangements in any of the houses for summer heat ! 
You ought to have sun-blinds to every window ; 
marble bath-rooms ; verandahs ; take a siesta ! ” 
“Do you call to-day hot?’' you ask, in mild surprise. 
“ Hot, sir ! ” cries the outraged one, “I never felt so 
hot in India — never ! ” 

To said India, next year, he duly returns ; and, in 
his first letter to you, you observe these words : 

“Of course the heat here is perfectly grilling — you 
English can form no idea of it ! I never felt thor- 
oughly warm once all the time I was in England: 
no proper conveniences for heating your houses ; no 
system for warming halls or passages ! Execrable 
climate ! ’* 

You spend fifteen minutes in a praiseworthy en- 
deavour to systematise the climatic views of your 
friend, and then you give it up ; reflecting that, after 
all, when the English invented umbrellas and mack- 
intoshes, they did about all they could towards 
making things pleasanter in this watery isle. And, 
spite of the good advice you have received, on the 
forthcoming four and a half hot days of summer, you 
neither darken your house nor sit in the cellar, but go 
out and allow the coy English sunshine to renew your 
youth, and the enterprising midge to embellish your 
person, as you drink tea under the copper beech on 
the lawn. 

Disney was in a rare mood to find fault. He had 


/ 


THE IDES OF MARCH. 


245 

left London a few days back, finding its closeness in- 
supportable, its emptiness intolerable. Taking ad- 
vantage of the very cordially-worded invitation which 
his friend Forde had dashed off to him in the first 
impulse of his sympathy, he had promptly started to 
Norchester, hoping there to find fine weather and 
a hospitable reception. Neither was forthcoming. 
Forde was away, and, the very day after his arrival, 
down came the rain in torrents, breaking up all 
the heat, leaving the world chilly, wind-swept, and 
grey. 

Eminently sociable, and devoutly hating his own 
company, he had established himself at the “Swan 
Inn ” in the market place, and killed time with much 
difficulty, many cigars, and a sporting novel, until it 
was time to go up to the station and get his horses. 
He had no definite idea as to when Forde would 
return : some time that day, he believed ; but tele- 
grams are not explicit, and the cordial letter with 
which Richard had supplemented his, had not come 
to hand, because it was addressed to Minstergate, 
where he believed his friend to have taken up his 
quarters. Disney determined to call at Forde’s on 
his way down, and find out what time he was ex- 
pected. Meantime, he walked up and down briskly 
to keep himself warm, and, in true British fashion, 
roundly abused the unpunctuality of the trains to the 
servants of the company. 

These all listened with much deference and sym- 
pathy : they knew a cavalry officer when they saw 
one ; and, in truth, the Captain’s outward man was 
sure to enlist affection and admiration wherever he 
went. He was rather tall — certainly slim, but com- 
pactly built, with a head that would not have dis- 
graced a Praxiteles, covered with sunny, closely- 
clipped hair, full of ripples and ridges which would 
have developed into curls had the barber permitted. 
He was very sunburnt, and this made his large, clear 
blue eyes more noticeable; his nose was straight, 
and his long, golden moustache might have made the 


2 4 6 the ides of march , ; 

most humble of men vain. No suspicion of vanity 
lurked, however, in the frank, winning eyes and 
smile. It was a very irresistible face, and, even now 
that he was confessedly out of humour, there was 
something about him which made every one look 
twice at him, and feel the better for any sight so 
goodly and pleasant. 

The leisurely train steamed at last casually into the 
station, as if conscious of having the whole day before 
it ; and Disney hastened in the direction of the horse- 
boxes. 

It was a great relief to find that the mare had be- 
haved with exemplary fortitude, and soothing to see 
the delight with which she rubbed her loving nose 
against his coat-sleeve. His cart was there too, and 
every porter in the station hastened to give a helping 
hand. 

“ Not such bad time as I feared, sir, neither,” said 
Joe, the groom, the Captain's devoted bond-slave and 
adorer. 

Disney turned his head to look at the station-clock, 
and saw a sight which arrested his eyes at once : and 
for a moment he forgot his mare, his cart, everything 
which had been previously paramount. 

A girl stood on the platform, alone. Her face was 
turned partially away from him, he only saw the out- 
line of a smooth cheek, and coils of dark brown hair ; 
but her figure was drawn out clearly against the 
cloudy sky beyond, and his quick eye noted and 
appreciated at once its indescribable careless grace. 
She wore a very simple dark blue travelling dress, 
and in her hand was a bunch of magnificent late 
roses, whose opulent colour seemed a centre of 
warmth and light in the dreary landscape. The point 
of one irreproachable boot was just visible beneath 
the severely simple skirt. 

As if the gazer’s earnest scrutiny had some mag- 
netic attraction, she turned and looked at him ; and, as 
her absent glance rested upon him, it quickened into 
aroused attention. Her eyes were glorious, he told 


THE IDES OF MARCH. 


247 


himself in real admiration. All the glamour, the un- 
utterable attractiveness of youth and splendid health 
were here. After a moment of looking straight at 
him, the girl withdrew her eyes, and seemed search- 
ing for some one, for she threw an impatient glance 
around her. Just as Disney was wondering whether 
he dare offer any help, or whether he had better send 
a porter to her assistance, a gentleman was seen, 
moving up the platform quickly, a bag in hand, a 
wrap over his arm. 

“Here it is,” he was saying, reassuringly ; and 
Disney with a great start, flinging away his cigar-end, 
came forward, crying eagerly, 

“By all that’s utterly unaccountable, Westmorland, 
where did you spring from ? ” 

If he had started, his start was nothing to the 
Major’s, though of course Evelyn should have been 
more or less prepared for the meeting, knowing 
Disney to be in Norchester. 

He displayed a countenance in which appeared 
the strangest — apparently, the most uncalled-for 
emotions, a passion of sympathy, struggling with a 
sense of conscious guilt ; the first thing, however, 
which struck his friend was his appearance of illness, 
his haggard face, wan under its sunburn, the purple 
rings under his great grave eyes. 

“ I am pleased, more pleased than I can say, to 
meet you, old man, ” he cried. ‘ ‘ I have been literally 
yearning for the sight of a friendly face ! But I must 
say you don’t look over brilliant : right down ill, I 
should say ! What on earth have you been doing to 
yourself ? ” 

Evelyn was dumb ; perhaps surprise kept him 
silent. This radiant, dashing, jovial Edgar Disney 
was to his mind as little like a forsaken lover as he 
himself, in the Captain’s eyes, probably resembled an 
accepted one. 

But Leo came to the rescue. She raised her limpid 
eyes to Disney’s, full of a charming comprehension. 

“I think — I am sure you must be my brother’s 


THE IDES OF MATCH 


248 

friend,” said she, hospitably extending her hand to 
him. “Did you come to meet us? How kind of 
you ! ” 

“Miss Forde,” the Major found himself able to 
murmur explanatorily at this point. 

“Miss Forde ! ” cried the delighted Disney, clasping 
the little hand. “ Are you really Dick Forde’s sister ? 

I am, indeed ” “in luck’s way,” was on the tip of 

his tongue, but, on reflection, he thought it better to 
leave the sentence an eloquent fragment ; and, before 
more could be said, Dick himself appeared on the 
scenes, his mission having been to charter a fly and 
see the luggage piled thereon. 

“ Hallo ! there you are ! ” was his greeting, most 
wanting as to words, most cordial in tone, and there 
was a hearty hand-shaking. “We hurried home on 
your account ; delighted to see you looking so fit ! 
Westmorland, have you introduced my sister?” 

‘ ‘ I guessed who it was, ” said Leo, with a pretty 
assumption of dignity which had come into being 
during the last three days, “so I partly introduced 
myself. I have heard so much of Captain Disney.” 

“Nothing bad, I hope?” he cried, laughing light- 
heartedly. 

“Nothing in the least bad, I assure you.” 

“I wonder at that! My misdemeanours are so 
manifold I could hardly have thought it possible that 
any one could talk much of me without mentioning 
them ! But Forde is charitable !” 

“ It’s a great relief to find you in such capital form,” 
said Forde, smiling. “Westmorland told me very 
dismal stories about you.” 

“Did he?” said the young man, with a quick 
glance at Evelyn, “he ought to be ashamed of him- 
self, and I think he must have been speaking of him- 
self and not me at the time. Did you ever see a man 
look more seedy ? What has he been doing ? ” 

‘ ‘ Oh, he had quite an adventure yesterday, ” said 
Forde, “ and it is folly for him to be out to-day. I 
expect he will be laid up.” 


THE IDES OF MARCH. 


249 

“An adventure, eh, Westmorland ?” said Disney, 
easily, 

“Caught in the thunder-storm yesterday, at the 
top of Limmerdale with a lady/’ laughed Richard. 
“Her horse bolted, and threw her; he didn’t know 
the country in the least, and had to get her home 
somehow.” 

“I hope,” said Disney, gravely, “that she was 
young and pretty, I wouldn’t have poor Westmorland 
grew rheumatic for the sake of a plain woman.” 

The look of dumb agony in Westmorland’s eyes 
was strange to see ; it was as though the light words 
had hurt him physically,— he scarcely heard Leo’s 
eager, loyal cry of : 

‘ * She is beautiful ! the loveliest girl I know ! ” 

He set his teeth together, and said nothing. Even 
Disney, though of course failing utterly to understand, 
gathered generally that on this point he was mutely 
implored to restrain his wit, and, with his usual 
quickness, turned the subject instantly, by lamenting 
that the Fordes should have hurried back to Nor- 
chester on his account. 

Leo hoped that Martha had made him comfortable, 
which elicited the fact of his being at the “Swan,” 
and he was vehemently bidden to repair at once 
thither, and bring over his things, an invitation which 
he was but too ready to accept. How different a 
world it was, from what it had seemed an hour ago ! 
Leo’s girlish beauty had infused summer into his 
skies with a glance. 

He explained that his errand to the station had really 
been to receive his horse and his groom. The cart 
was duly exhibited and admired, also the pretty black 
mare, which Joe was already placing between the 
shafts. 

“May I drive one of you down?” he asked 
Richard. 

“Thanks, but I think Leo must come with me, and 
Westmorland takes leave of us here ; he goes up to 
Hesselburgh, where his father is staying.” 


250 


THE IDES OF MATCH 


“ Oh — is that it?” said Disney, looking from one 
to the other in a rather puzzled way. 

He felt that he did not quite understand the situa- 
tion. Dick’s manner was hurried, and he seemed to 
be labouring under a suppressed excitement ; and, as 
for Westmorland, his perturbation could not have 
escaped the notice of the most casual observer. What 
did it mean ? 

He felt Evelyn’s hand on his shoulder. 

“ I suppose you don’t feel like giving me a lift to- 
wards Hesselburgh ? ” he asked, in a voice which 
plainly said, “ I have something to say to you.” 

After a moment’s reflection, Disney answered, 

“ I shall be very glad.” 

It was contrary to his nature to leave the side of 
any pretty woman, but there was the enchanting pros- 
pect before him of a week or more to be spent in the 
same house with the beautiful Miss Forde ; and, be- 
sides, he might get some explanations out of West- 
morland, for really the attitude of the two men was 
suggestive of something out of the usual way. 


CHAPTER XXIX. 

I AM AFRAID YOU MISJUDGED HER. 

*‘Oh, heart of mine, marked broad with her mark, 

Tekel , found wanting, set aside ! 

. . . See, I bleed these tears in the dark. . . 

If it would only come over again ! ” 

Robert Browning. 

“ Good-bye, for a very short time,” said Major West- 
morland, in a low voice to Leo, as he helped her into 
the station fly. “ I shall in all probability bring my 
father to see you this afternoon.” 


THE IDES OF MARCH. 


251 

Leo trembled, turned scarlet, then pale, and lifted 
beseeching eyes to him. 

“ Oh — I am so frightened ! ” she said plaintively. 

“I have assured you that there is no need ; he will 
be overjoyed/’ he answered, kindly, taking her shy 
hand encouragingly, but she searched his eyes in vain 
for the look of tender mutual understanding which 
makes one of the most exquisite delights of love; 
again the forlorn sensation of something wanting crept 
coldly over her, but her experience was so slight that 
she was but too ready to believe herself foolish, un- 
reasonable, longing for impossibilities. 

He stood back, watching her drive away with her 
brother, and, as soon as they were out of earshot, 
Disney’s eager voice broke on his ear. 

“ Well ! Never be surprised at anything you see. 
To think of Forde’s possessing a sister of that descrip- 
tion ! Forde, of all men ! Real good sort, but plain 
and steady-going — hey? Shouldn’t you say so?” 
Standing on the station steps, he lit himself a fresh 
cigar, and the match-light flickered over his exhilarated 
face. “ That girl, I tell you,” he cried, “ that girl 
has points that ought to win her first prize in any beauty- 
show where the judges knew anything about it. Of 
course she is a bit young, too thin, and so on, but in 
a couple of years I’m hanged if you will be able to 
pick any hole in her anywhere ; she is a beauty.” 

Evelyn looked at him in an astonishment so great 
as to engulf even his resentment ; instead of objecting, 
as he naturally might, to having his fiancee discussed 
and admired from this exceedingly technical point of 
view, he said, after a speechless pause, 

“You carry it off very well, Disney, but you needn’t 
put it on with me, you know. I can sympathise with 
you. ” 

“ Eh ? ” said the Captain, in surprise almost as great, 
surveying him as he got into the cart. “ What’s the 
matter now ? ” 

He gathered up the reins and made fast the neat 
apron to the strap in the middle, 


252 


THE IDES OF MARCH. 


“Up with you, Westmorland, and let’s get things 
explained a bit Let her go, Joe, and you be off to 
the ‘Swan’ in the market-place, get your dinner, 
and engage the stable for a fortnight certain — d’ye 
hear ? ” 

Joe touched his shining hat with military smartness, 
and in a minute the cart was spinning up the green 
lane which led to Hesselburgh, and then Edgar turned 
his beautiful eyes on his companion, and said blithely. 

“Now then, what’s up ? ” 

“Disney,” said the Major, “I feel as if I — as if I 
hardly understood you. I expected to see you regu- 
larly cut up.” 

‘ ‘ What ! Has anything happened ? ” cried the other, 
quickly, * £ because, if so, I wish you would speak out. 
I can’t stand this sort of thing, you know.” 

The Major mused for a moment, and then said 
slowly, 

“When I last heard from you — not much more 
than six months ago — you said you were heartbroken. ” 

“O — o — oh!” softly cried Edgar, and was silent, 
while a shadow gathered darkly over his bright face, 
and a pained look passed into his eyes. So marked 
was the change, that sympathy and remorse for hav- 
ing touched such a painful chord leapt simultaneously 
into Evelyn’s heart, and involuntarily he half stretched 
out his hand, then drew it back. 

“ Heartbroken,” resumed the driver, after a long 
silence, “well, I believe I was, for a time. I have 
never been so hard hit, certainly.” He flicked the 
flies from the mare’s head with the whip, and an 
absent look was in his eyes, as though his thoughts 
were travelling back into the past. ‘ ‘ That was a fas- 
cinating girl, Westmorland,” he said with a long sigh. 

Evelyn cleared his throat, in which a lump seemed 
to have risen. 

“ I must tell you, that I,” he began, with his usual 
tardiness of utterance ; but Disney interrupted him. 

“I would have sworn black was white, had she 
asked me,” he said, bitterly. “I was mad about 


THE IDES OF MARCH. 


2 53 


her ; but you know — you know these things are 
not incurable, whatever novelists may say on the 
subject. ” 

Evelyn was moved to indignation. 

“You seemed to think you were incurable at the 
time, judging from your letters tome on the subject,” 
he said, his heart beating excitedly, his breath com- 
ing quickly. 

“Ah, well ! Such a cool old hand as you are, my 
boy, knew how to make allowances for what a fellow 
felt obliged to dash off in the heat of the moment. ” 

“ Disney ! ” 

“Well — take an analogy,” said Disney, coolly. 
“You were wounded in action, were you not, in the 
Murrepore insurrection ? What can a man do, when 
the ball is in him, but writhe and curse his fate ? 
Didn't you feel as if you would be glad to die and be 
out of your misery ? As if it was too much to bear 
for the time ? But what happens ? They get the ball 
out, and by-and-by you come to feel some sort of 
satisfaction in being alive again, to take an interest in 
things, to go about and gradually to think less of your 
wound. You have got an ugly scar to carry about 
with you to your grave ; but it does not materially 
affect your comfort, or your pleasure. ” 

“They get out the ball,” said Westmorland, in a 
low, choked tone. “ But suppose they can’t do that ? 
Some balls go too deep.” 

Disney did not immediately reply, but drove on, 
turning the subject over in his mind. At last, 

* ‘ I should have a thorough contempt for a man 
who could allow such a thing to spoil his life,” he 
declared, firmly. 

“Oh — certainly — I suppose so,” was the Major’s 
mystified reply. 

“ What care I, though fair she be, if she be not fair 
for me?” laughed his friend. “She couldn’t have 
cared for me deeply, you know, or she would not 
have turned me over ; and, you see, I’m such a faulty 
fellow, the woman who loves me must take me, 


254 


THE IDES OF MATCH. 


faults and all. Her love must be great enough to 
overlook them. ” 

Again he considered. 

“Of course I know she thought she was doing 
right when she broke it off,” he began, hesitatingly. 

His beautiful eyes kindled and his colour rose as he 
made the admission. Evelyn looked at him with an 
indescribable mixture of feeling. His agitation was 
so great, he could scarcely control it. He had judged 
this man by his own standard — by his own loyal, but 
utterly exceptional ideal of constancy ; he had been 
guilty of the inconceivable folly of imputing to Edgar 
Disney the principles which would have actuated 
Evelyn Westmorland. It had been quite inevitable ; 
it is the mistake made by every one in this game of 
cross-purposes which we call life ; but singularly dis- 
astrous had its effects been in this case. 

‘ * Don’t you see, ” he said, hoarsely, with feverish 
earnestness, “that, if that is so, she may have cared 
for you all the time ? I mean this. If she really, as 
you say, believed it right to give you up, she would 
do it, however great the love she bore. She would 
do it on principle.” 

Disney laughed a low, melodious laugh of scep- 
ticism. 

“ Oh ! I don’t believe in that, you know — not when 
people are in love,” he answered. “A woman in 
love doesn’t get time to think of such out-of-the-way, 
inflated sentiment ■” 

“Sentiment ! It’s a question of right and wrong,” 
growled the Major. 

“You don’t quite understand. I suppose I had 
better give you the casus belli. It was— — ” he hesi- 
tated again. “I tell you this in confidence, West- 
morland, because you are good enough to take, as it 
seems, a lively interest in my affairs and morals. It 
was a garrison flirtation, and I am free to confess that 
I behaved pretty badly. It was all stopped, of course, 
directly she appeared on the scenes ; but the girl was 
a— a simple-minded girl, and she thought I meant 


THE IDES OF MARCH. 


255 

more than I did. I believe she took it terribly to 
heart, and it all came — somebody told — well, the ins 
and outs of it would be a long story, but the result 
was that — er — Miss Merrion came to know her , and 
to know all about it ; so she sent for me, and asked 
me if it was true.” 

“ Yes ? ” was Evelyn’s breathless question. 

He felt as if he could see Hope at the moment — as 
if he knew the expression of her eyes and mouth and 
chin. 

“Ah, well ! I couldn’t deny much of it,” heavily 
replied Disney. ‘ ‘ I hadn’t realised it — hadn’t ex- 
pected she could think of it so seriously as to form 
a barrier. When she — dismissed me, I could not 
believe my ears.” 

Evelyn closed his eyes. 

“ She considered me bound in honour to this girl,” 
went on Edgar. ‘ ‘ She was right, theoretically ; I 
can own that now, though then I was feeling too 
much about it to be able to see any side but my own, 
and I still think she laid too much stress upon it. As 
I said, women in love don’t act theoretically.” 

The light rattle of the wheels in the sandy lane was 
the only sound for a while ; then he resumed, 

“I suppose these things happen for the best, you 
know. It might have been rather a bore, after all, 
to have your wife sitting in judgment on you from 
such an altitude. She said she despised me, and that 
no happiness could come of marrying a man she de- 
spised ; and I expect she was right about that. She 
made so much out of it : what had I done ? Only 
what any fellow does, times and again. She was a 
governess — this other ; impossible, you know : pretty 
but dull : one grew tired of her. Now one would 
never, during a hundred years, tire of Miss Merrion. 
Jove ! I wish you could have seen her, Westmorland ! 
The sort of woman to twist herself in and out your 
heart-strings, and make you feel — pshaw ! What’s 
the use of trying to describe her, after all ? ” 

Evelyn struggled with that strange impediment 


THE IDES OF MARCH. 


256 

in his roat, and brought out his confession in a 
grating voice unlike his own. 

“I have seen her,” he said. 

“Seen whom?” asked Disney, with listless in- 
attention. 

“ Miss Merrion,” faltered the other ; and then their 
eyes met. 

“ You have seen her,” meditatively repeated 
Disney, as if retracing in his mind all that he had 
said of her during the foregoing conversation. 
“Where ?” 

“ She is staying here — at Hesselburgh.” 

His companion pulled the mare up short, and 
turned on him with a heightened colour and agitated 
manner which proved him to be perhaps less per- 
fectly recovered than he had imagined. 

“ Is she there now ? ” 

“Oh, no! At Learning — we left her there. It 
was she who was thrown from her horse, yesterday. ” 

“Ah!” 

There was indeed food for reflection here on the 
part of both men. Westmorland was still reeling 
under the shock of discovering that Disney treated 
his recent love affair as an episode — painful and 
memorable indeed, but still an episode : and handled 
it with a certain impartiality which seemed to relegate 
it to the remote past, and so upset every notion he 
had formed about it. The character of Disney’s 
meditations was partly revealed by his first question, 

“ Does she know that you know me? ” 

“Yes.” 

“ I don’t want to meet her, Westmorland.” 

“Not?” said Eveyln, faintly, wondering if such 
a desire were possible on the part of a man once 
admitted for a time to the Paradise of Hope Merrion’s 
love. 

“ Of course not — it would be pretty awkward for 
both of us,” said Edgar, sharply. “What do you 
think of her — eh ? ” 

“I — have seen very little of her,” faltered the 


THE IDES OF MARCH. 


2 57 

Major. “Your letters had given me an entirely false 
view of the case ; I imagined that she was a ... . 
that she had treated you badly .... and I kept my 
distance. ” 

“You are a good old sort, Westmorland ! Some- 
thing like a friend ! ” laughed Disney, with affection- 
ate gratitude, “ but your zeal was a trifle misdirected. 
I am afraid you misjudged her.” 

“ I did,” replied the Major, aloud ; and in his sore, 
desolate heart he cried, “ God forgive me ! ” 

‘ ‘ She — I hope — she was not hurt, yesterday ? ” 
hesitatingly asked Edgar. 

“ I hope not — I believe not. They said she seemed 
to be pretty well this morning. Of course I did not 
see her before coming away.” 

“What made you come away? ” 

“ I came to tell my father my news ” — a pause, and 
then, in his deepest tones, he continued, ‘ ‘ I am en- 
gaged to be married to Miss Forde.” 

“You know, Westmorland, you never were any 
hand at greening ; drop it, that wouldn’t deceive a 
baby.” 

* ‘ I don’t want to deceive anybody ; I am engaged 
to Miss Forde, and I wonder you should think me 
capable of joking on such a subject,” was the prompt 
and stern reply. 

“Why on earth,” cried Disney, “couldn’t you 
say so before ? Are you crazy ? Allowing me to 
discuss her in that way, and to criticise her points ! 
I never came across such a fellow in my life ! En- 
gaged — you — to Miss Forde ! Well ! ” 

Evelyn had no answer to give : he could hardly 
say that his thoughts had been so full of the woman 
he loved that he had scarcely so much as heard 
what was said of the girl he was engaged to. 
l 7 


258 


THE IDES OF MARCH 


CHAPTER XXX. 

THE WOMEN’S SANITARY LEAGUE. 

Child of an age which lectures, not creates. 

James Russell Lowell. 

“The programmes are my great difficulty,” said 
Mrs. Saxon, perplexedly. “I wish Muriel were at 
home. I was counting upon Mr. Westmorland to 
draw them up, but evidently he is not well enough 
to be troubled about anything.” 

“What do you suppose is the matter with him ? ” 
asked her Athelstan, anxiously. 

“He is fretting himself ill because the Major won’t 
marry. I have an idea that he hoped something 
might ensue from this visit to Learning, for he seemed 
in such spirits when they all started, and was such a 
help to me over all these W. S. L. preparations : but 
that note I had from his son this morning, saying that 
he was coming back to-day, seems to have cast him 
down most terribly. I fancy he thinks he has been 
rejected by one or more of the three.” 

“Not likely— eh?” 

“How can I tell? The unexpected always hap- 
pens, you know. But this does not settle the question 
of the programmes, and I shall have Miss Dinwiddie 
here this afternoon.” 

The poor lady’s blotched and heated countenance 
did not improve her appearance. She wore a fawn- 
coloured cloth suit, and a deer-stalker to match, in 
somewhat painful proximity to her brick-coloured 
brow. She and her husband stood just before the 
front door of Hesselburgh, and watched the erection 


THE IDES OF MARCH. 


259 

of a huge red-and-white-striped marquee on the lawn. 
There was an air of bustle everywhere — gardeners 
were busy with mowing machines and rollers, some 
of the stablemen and boys had been pressed into the 
service to trim borders, and nip dead geranium- 
blooms. The grey skies and cold wind took the 
heart out of things in general, and made the prepa- 
rations seem dreary and futile. 

At a little distance from Mrs. Saxon stood a lady of 
uncertain age — thin, sandy-haired, and spectacled. 
She was clad in scanty, lank garments, which con- 
veyed the impression of being insecurely fastened at 
the neck and waist. She held a note-book and pencil, 
and was apparently jotting down a description of the 
house and grounds, for she frequently glanced up and 
around. 

“I think that will be all, thank you,” said she, 
presently, approaching and speaking in a voice and 
manner which Mrs. Saxon would have characterised 
as hopelessly affected had she been a well-dressed, 
fashionable-looking woman. “How soon do you 
expect Miss Dinwiddie ? ” 

“Shortly : she will be here as soon as the Richester 
train gets in. If you have really done, you must 
come and have some lunch, Miss Sharpley.” 

* * Oh, how very kind you are, dear Mrs. Saxon ! 
The W. S. L. ought indeed to be grateful to you.” 

“I hope it is ; at all events, it shows itself so by 
accepting my invitation to parade itself in my grounds. 
May we have a better day than this, that's all ! 
Athelstan, take Miss Sharpley and give her some 
lunch. ” 

“ Indeed, yes, my dear ! This way Miss Sharpley,” 
cried the zealous aide-de camp. 

“ You would like to stay and see Miss Dinwiddie ? ” 
called Mrs. Saxon, after them. 

“If you please, dear Mrs. Saxon.” 

The hostess folded her arms, stared at the rising 
marquee, and fell into a reverie, from which she was 
aroused by the sound of footsteps behind her, and, 


THE IDES OF MARCH. 


260 

looking up, saw Mr. Westmorland feebly advancing 
down the hall. 

‘ ‘ Ah, my friend, are you better ? ” she said, kindly. 

‘ ‘ I am taking a minute’s breathing-time, and looking 
out for our secretary. ” 

“ Miss Dinwiddie? Ah! it will be pleasant to 
meet her again. She, as well as your special reporter 
in there, are outcomes of the age we live in an 
article for which there was no call in the market 
thirty years ago ; I wonder how long the demand 
will last ? ” 

‘ ‘ What, the demand for intelligent women ? ” smiled 
Mrs. Saxon. ‘ ‘ Not very long, I fear ; only as long as 
there are intelligent men.” 

Mr. Westmorland laughed quietly. 

‘ £ What makes intelligence take that particular form, 
I wonder ? ” he said. 

“ Which form ? ” 

“The form of Miss Sharpley.” 

“All clever women are not like her.” 

“Granted ; but, do you know, in confidence I will 
own to you that I shall be glad when the day comes 
when women are intelligent as a matter of course, 
and do not make a vocation of it. ” 

“I always did think you only half-converted,” said 
she ; “ but, apart altogether from the suffrage, any 
sane person must agree in the absolute necessity ot 
this Women’s Sanitary League. Take the most 
domestic view of women — take Goethe’s view of them 
as the useful, economical, uncomplaining, unpaid ser- 
vants of men, and there is all the more need for them 
to be sanitary. I believe the bishop is going to make 
a point of that. A knowledge of the laws of health 
and cleanliness is as essential to an under-housemaid 
as to a Girton graduate.” 

“So you have really got the bishop to preside?” 

“ Both days. Dr. Compton, of the London Health 
League, is to speak afterwards, then Sister Mary 
Eleanor, from the Cricklewood Fever Hospital, then 
Mrs. Nash, who inspects laundries, and Miss Burton, 


The ides oe march. 


261 


who inspects women’s workshops in Richester. In 
that long white tent a model hospital ward is to be 
fitted up, with nurses in uniform, and various mem- 
bers of our Sunday-schools as patients. In the fur- 
ther one is the model laundry, and beyond the model 
kitchen. In the large drawing-room an exhibition of 
sanitary clothing and bedclothing. If we could only 
be sure of fine weather. ” 

“My dear madam, it is bound to be a success, 
whatever the weather. All your objets dart are under 
cover. Your energy is beyond all praise ; you de- 
serve that the whole of Norchester should at once 
form itself into one gigantic health organisation. ” 

“As you know, it is with the idea of starting a 
branch in Norchester like that at Richester, that I am 
making this experiment. The bishop is a great ally, 
he will draw crowds ; with the late bishop it would 
have been hopeless, as he belonged to that once 
numerous school of theology which thought famine, 
pestilence, and disease the will of God, and that it 
was wicked to try to prevent them. ” 

“ Many traces of that creed still linger in various 
forms,” said Mr. Westmorland, “it’s not obsolete.” 

“Then,” proceeded the lady, “there is your paper, 
to which I am looking forward more than anything, 
but for which I have not found a name ; about not 
forgetting beauty in the search for health.” 

“I shall be bashful before so many authorities.” 

“ Oh, nonsense ! And Canon Shorthouse will read 
a short paper on the system of the Roman baths 
lately discovered in Norchester. And now I have 
only two days in which to get the programmes 
printed, and I do so want your advice. I have 
telegraphed to Muriel that she must really come home 
from Learning at once.” 

Mr. Westmorland’s brows darkened as he heard 
the mention of Learning. 

“The attractions there seem to be great, to every- 
body but Evelyn,” he sneered. “ What on earth is he 
leaving for, I should like to know.” 


262 


THE IDES OF MARCH. 


“ I daresay he finds it dull,” calmly said Mrs. Sax- 
on “ The life there would not suit everyone, and 
he is a soldier, and used to action.” 

Evelyn’s father made a gesture of ineffable disdain. 

“ Dull ! With those three lovely girls ! He is not 
a man at all, if he thinks so. ” 

“ You are hard upon him.” 

“ I have before told you that my son is a great dis- 
appointment to me.” 

“And I will not hear a word against him. I con- 
sider him a model son.” 

“If he were a man of great talent, one might par- 
don his eccentricity,” said the parent, drily. “But 
he ! — I suppose he has forgotten all he ever learnt, 
and that it would be an effort to him to translate 
a page of Homer! Never opens the classics, that 
I know of.” 

“He is an excellent tactician,” retorted Evelyn’s 
defender, valiantly, “for the General told me so. 
He said, ‘Westmorland might not have the original- 
ity to plan a campaign, but he has got the sense and 
the pluck, and the coolness and the daring, to carry 
it out!”’ 

“Why didn’t he stick to it then? ” testily asked the 
invalid. 

“Why, it was your doing! He gave it up to be 
with you!” cried Mrs. Saxon. “His love for you 
was stronger than his ambition. ” 

“Love for me? He has none! I repeat none! 
He does not consider me in the least ; neither had 
he a spark of ambition ; he was simply glad to catch 
at a suggestion to come home and be idle. I asked 
him about it at the time. I said to him, ‘ Now, don’t 
go sacrificing yourself for me : have you any feeling 
of reluctance ? Do you care ? ’ and I well remember 
his answer. ‘I don’t care a straw,’ said he. 4 1 don’t 
care a straw.’ That man ambitious ! No indeed ! ” 

Mrs. Saxon was silent. 

“He is unfeeling, that’s what it is,” went on the 
father, crossly, “and it seems to me hard, as I said 


THE IDES OF MARCH. 


263 


\o you some few weeks back, that my only one 
should be such a clod. However, I seem to suffer 
in common with all other modern fathers ; no more 
control over our sons than if they were not related to 
us. It is hard, but you tell me it is salutary, and I 
suppose it is. To have every hope blighted in this 
world, is more likely to turn our thoughts towards 
the next. ” 

He spoke with an air of patient resignation, and 
looked very handsome and exceedingly ill-used as he 
stood against the porch. He shivered in the bleak 
air. 

“I am afraid I must go in,” he said presently, find- 
ing she did not answer his pious lament. 

“ The brougham — Miss Dinwiddie — I must wait to 
receive her, ” said Mrs. Saxon, eagerly, as the car- 
riage came in sight ; and for a moment he forgot his 
grievance, and his face lit up with an amused smile. 

“I must wait and see her, she is always worth 
looking at,” he murmured. 

The prospectuses of the Women's Sanitary League 
bore as the name and degree of their chief secretary, 

Miss Christina Dinwiddie , 
formerly Matron of the Slate Street Hospital. 

This certainly conveyed an impression of age and 
dignity. What Miss Dinwiddie’s age really was, is a 
question not to be deeply probed : but her appearance 
was most undoubtedly that of youth. She had a 
rather pretty face, and a perennial smile which was 
somewhat too suggestive of a cat. An aureole of 
curly auburn hair waved above her brow, and fram- 
ing this, at the back of her head, was a huge brown 
velvet hat with a quantity of brown and yellow 
feathers. She was wrapped in a long brown cloak, 
which showed its yellow lining here and there. 

“ Dear Mrs. Saxon ! ” cried she, “how good of you 
to send to meet me ! ” 


264 


THE IDES OF MARCH. 


“I could hardly expect you to carry your luggage 
three miles/' replied her hostess, in her uncompro- 
mising way. 

“And Mr. Westmorland!" cried the secretary, 
holding up her hands. “I declare," coquettishly, 
“ that you will frighten the life out of me when I am 
on the platform, Mr. Westmorland ! I shall be so 
afraid of your criticisms." 

“I never criticise ladies, Miss Dinwiddie, espe- 
cially when they are handsome. " 

This was a very different type of compliment 
from that which he would have offered to Hope 
Merrion, but the event proved that he knew how to 
please. 

The lady blushed and sparkled, and cried “Oh ! " 
as if she were fresh from a second-rate boarding 
school. Mrs. Saxon smiled oddly. 

“Well ! we have indeed a friend in you," pursued 
Miss Dinwiddie gushingly, as she looked around. 
“What an event this will be! The whole north is 
talking about it ! There will be columns and sketches 
innumerable in the Englishwoman J” 

“Miss Sharpley is here now." 

“ In-deed ! But I thought she only drew the large 
centre pictures ? " 

“ Exactly. The large centre picture is to represent 
the platform, with portraits of us all. She has drawn 
Mr. Westmorland and me, and now she wants a sit- 
ting of you I believe. Wait," she added to the coach- 
man, “I shall want you to drive me to the Palace 
presently. ” 

“A picture of me in the Englishwoman /" cried 
Miss Dinwiddie. 

“Surely not the first time,” humorously said Mr. 
Westmorland. 

“Well ! It's the first time I have been on the centre 
page," admitted she, all blushes. 

“There is to be a sheet of sketches, of the hospital, 
laundry, etc.," said Mrs. Saxon. 

“All England will be ringing with your name, 


THE IDES OF MARCH 265 

Miss Dinwiddie,” protested Mr. Westmorland as they 
all three went indoors together. 

The indefinite Miss Sharpley was found in the 
dining-room, sketch-book in hand, her scarcely tasted 
lunch beside her, rapidly making a telling little sketch 
of the pretty oriel widow, and Mrs. Saxon’s amiable 
person in front of it. 

“Dear, how clever! ” cried Miss Dinwiddie, “and 
how delightful,” she added, condescendingly, as she 
sat down, “to be able to get up so much enthusiasm 
in the provinces.” 

Mrs. Saxon indulged in a secret smile ; this lady 
was, as her friend had said, a creation of her age. 
But she reflected what a good, solid, working basis 
lay under this appearance and manner, what an 
admirable secretary she was, how untiring, how 
accurate, and how much the league owed its welfare 
to her efforts. As for her dress, why, society has 
long held that anybody may wear anything, regard- 
less of aught but his or her own inclination, and Mrs. 
Saxon was the last woman to dispute such a doctrine. 


CHAPTER XXXI. 

THE MAJOR’S ANNOUNCEMENT. 

Because the very fiends weave ropes of sand 
Rather than taste pure hell in idleness, 

Therefore I kept my memory down by stress 
Of daily work. 

Robert Browning. 

Mrs. Saxon, as she sat at lunch, looked anxiously 
from time to time at Mr. Westmorland. Something 
in his appearance made her uneasy, a certain livid 
look about the complexion, and a most unaccustomed 
hesitancy of speech. 


266 


THE IDES OF MARCH 


“ I must have caught cold,” he remarked once, “I 
feel such a stiffness in my left arm — I can scarcely 
raise it. Farren applied some embrocation this 
morning, but it has not afforded much relief. ” 

“ You must keep out of draughts,” said Mrs. Saxon, 
authoritatively. “You should not have come and 
stood outside just now, in that biting wind ; the 
Major will tell me I do not take care of you.” 

“ Pooh ! Evelyn labours under the idea that I am 
utterly senile and decrepit. I am much annoyed by 
the fuss he is always making. ” 

Evidently his son’s return had incensed him un- 
usually ; she had never heard him so venomous ; and, 
feeling vexed with her old friend, she turned to Miss 
Dinwiddie, and the conversation flowed into health 
channels, ambulance lectures being the particular 
point in discussion. 

In the midst of it all, Evelyn Westmorland walked 
quietly in. If his father had seemed to Mrs. Saxon 
to be looking ill, she thought so a thousand times 
more of himself. There was not a particle of colour 
in his face, and his eyes were hollow and dark ; he 
looked fatigued to the point of exhaustion, so much 
so that she thought something must have happened, 
and half rose from her seat, but sat down again, 
checking the exclamation that rose to her lips, be- 
cause she hated a commotion. He was at the last 
point of depression — wearied out with his tormenting, 
conflicting feelings, and, after a hurried greeting and 
apology to her for being late for lunch, he hastily 
left the room, and repaired to his own, to wash his 
hands and make himself presentable after his journey. 

Could it all really be true, that nightmare-like drive 
with Disney ? Had he really heard him laugh lightly, 
seen him smile a careless, happy smile, totally un- 
tinged by painful memory ? and was it a fact that he 
cheerfully * ‘ owned the past was best, ” and admitted 
candidly that Hope Merrion was justified in dismiss- 
ing him ? It seemed to turn all Evelyn’s world upside 
down. What had he done ? What must Hope think 


THE IDES OF MARCH. 267 

of him? No wonder she would not condescend to 
vindicate herself. The marvel was how he, Evelyn, 
could possibly have held such an erroneous opinion 
of Disney’s character. Yet what a charming, taking 
fellow he was ! Even to-day, with all his disappro- 
val, with all his own unavailing, bitter regret, he yet 
must feel the spell of that handsome face, the glamour 
of those beautiful blue eyes. 

After all, what had Disney’s offence been ? Barely 
enough flirtation to qualify him for a hero in the eyes 
of John Strange Winter. He had amused himself 
with a pretty girl whom he did not mean to marry, 
and the pretty girl in question had been foolish enough 
to take it to heart. For this — only this — was the 
woman to whom he was engaged to throw him 
over? Very tenderly does the world, and John 
Strange Winter as its prophet, judge such amiable 
weakness. Evelyn could recall one touching story 
from her pen, in which the hero, arising on the morn- 
ing after a ball, hazily tries to remember how many 
times the night before he kissed a certain pretty little 
girl ; he also counts the trophies he received from her 
— the roses and knots of ribbon, and the long glove, 
edged with real lace. In cheery mood, he proceeds 
to make a “holocaust” of this stolen property in the 
fireplace, and then goes for a walk, with a stainless 
conscience, and is rewarded by meeting another 
charming girl who gives him her entire devotion. 

Mr. Ruskin tells us that he much admires the work 
of this author somehow Major Westmorland didnot. 
He was absolutely on the side of Hope Merrion. No 
woman could more severely condemn Disney’s con- 
duct than he did. No hope, no remedy for the poor 
girl who had mistaken the handsome young officer’s 
intentions ! Evelyn’s heart swelled and choked with- 
in him : in his first fierce anger he told himself that 
no gentleman should associate with such a man : the 
utter thoughtlessness of his friend was unintelligible 
to him. 

Nothing, nothing could alter the past : and, after 


268 


THE IDES OF MARCH 


all, he had only himself to blame. For what purpose 
had God given him eyes, but to see and feel the no- 
bility of Hope’s nature ? He ought to have seen it. 
Her light-hearted gaiety had partly misled him : his 
ponderous gravity could not realise the deep waters 
under that sparkling surface. 

Oh, why — why — had things happened with such 
terrible perversity ! Had he only delayed speaking 
to Leo for one day ! . . . 

He caught himself up hastily, with a contemptuous 
laugh. What would Hope have been likely to say to 
him ? Was it likely that ever, under any circum- 
stances, she would have loved him ? 

Ah, but he might have loved her, might have poured 
out his devotion at her feet, might have felt that his 
great love gave him a right to die for her. 

How clear and sharp arose in his memory the 
vision of the small, white face and blazing eyes, with 
a background of lowering storm clouds ! How there 
rang in his ears the echo of the voice which had cried, 
“ I hate you 1” 

He was so glad to think that at least he had be- 
lieved in her then ; that was his only comfort. 
Though nothing whatever had occurred to vindicate 
her motives in his eyes, though the situation was the 
same in all points as at their first introduction, yet 
that day on the moors he had believed in her utterly. 
It was all past and done away with now. His walk 
in life lay before him mapped out clearly enough. 

Leo had said she loved him, and all his future was 
implicitly hers. He meant to love her very much, to 
give his life up to making her happy ; but he craved 
for a respite, time to go away and live down this 
agony of mind which the events of yesterday and to- 
day had engendered. Was it really yesterday only ? 
What folly it seemed ! Years might have lapsed since 
he asked pretty Leo to marry him. 

He seemed snared and kept in on all sides. He must 
speak to his father now, he stood pledged to do so. 
How could he tell how cold an ocean of misery and 


THE IDES OF MARCH. 269 

regret would roll over him on the drive through the 
innocent green lanes? 

“ You do look ill, sir,” observed Farren, who, on 
hearing of the Major’s arrival, had come to see if he 
was in want of anything. 

‘ ‘ I got wet through yesterday, and am tired out : 
that’s all,” replied Evelyn. 

“ The master, he’s not the thing to-day — no, not by 
any means,” went on Farren. 

“Not well ? ” sharply cried Evelyn. 

“No, sir, he’s not ; I am glad you’ve come back.” 

“You have been allowing him to take a chill ! ” said 
the son, wrathfully. 

“I don’t see how I’m to prevent master doing as 
he pleases, sir. He would stroll round the garden 
yesterday, after all that pouring rain, with Mrs. Saxon, 
looking at the tents — — ” 

“ Confound the tents ! ” was the irritable interrup- 
tion. “What makes you think he isn’t well?” 

“He looks so bad, sir, and complains of stiffness 
in the limbs. ” 

A sudden chill crept over Evelyn ; a strange idea 
visited him. Suppose that his father, that central pivot 
of his existence, and object of his present sacrifice, 
were to be taken away from him ? 

Such a thing was possible. If it happened, would 
he, Evelyn, have the moral courage to carry through 
his engagement ? ... Or perhaps the moral courage 
to break it off ? Which course would be right ? which 
the harder? He shrank from the hateful problem. 
The idea had merely flashed through his mind, but it 
seemed to reveal to him depths of unsuspected base- 
ness in his own character. He delayed no more, 
but hurried downstairs at once to see how far Farren’s 
account Of his father was worthy of attention, his 
heart, the while, keenly reproaching him because, in 
his own dumb misery, he had barely glanced at Mr. 
Westmorland on walking into the dining-room — was, 
in fact, quite ignorant of how he looked. 

The luncheon-party was just separating as he re- 


THE IDES OF MARCH 


270 

appeared. He was introduced to the Misses Sharpley 
and Dinwiddie, to whom, as was his custom, he 
bowed without looking at them. 

“ So sorry,” gushed Miss Dinwiddie to him, in most 
superfluous apology, “to be obliged to run away at 
once ; but we shall meet at dinner, I hope, I am 
staying here until after the meeting.” 

“ Indeed,” said the Major, in his grimmest tones. 

“The ladies' committee meets at three, and it is 
almost that now, so I know you will excuse us,” 
said Mrs. Saxon to his father, as she passed his seat. 
“There, I see the Palace carriage driving up ; Mrs. 
Dunster is arriving, mind you see that the Major eats 
something.” 

Evelyn’s eye curiously followed Miss Dinwiddie’s 
fluttering robes until they disappeared, and then he 
remarked, in tones of some horror, 

‘ ‘ What a caution of a woman ! ” 

“I believe you are not an admirer of the sex,” 
sneered Mr. Westmorland. “ I only wish you had a 
tenth part of Miss Dinwiddie’s brains.” 

His son did not reply. He carried his plate to the 
sideboard, cut himself some cold meat, and sat down 
again. Then he turned a keen eye on the profile 
which fronted him. He thought that he certainly did 
look ill ; and more than ill, aged and altered. A 
vague shock passed over him, an unexpressed horror 
which precipitated his action. 

He ate a mouthful or two, then laid down his 
knife and fork, regarding wistfully the ivory-pale, 
cold, disdainful face. 

At his movement, Mr. Westmorland turned round, 
bestowing on him a glance of cool contempt. 

“Lost your appetite ? ” said he. 

“Father, what have I done? Why do you look at 
me like that ? ” pleaded Evelyn, huskily. 

“ What do you mean ? ” 

The Major rose, and came round the table. 

“ I had expected, I had hoped for a different recep- 
tion,” he said, appealingly. “ I have tried to please 


THE IDES OF MARCfr \ 


27 i 

you, father. I came back to tell you so. I thought 
you would be glad. ” 

‘ 4 One thing would make me glad, Evelyn, and 
only one : to hear of your engagement. ” 

“ It is that,” stammered Evelyn, hoarsely. “I did 
not write, I came to tell you so myself. I am 
engaged. ” 

The changes that coursed over his father's expres- 
sive face were strange, almost terrifying, to see. He 
believed it at once ; little as he knew Evelyn, he yet 
was sure that in these circumstances he would never 
jest. 

The sudden, startling change — the transition from 
morbid gloom to frantic joy — the realization of what 
he had for years hopelessly longed for, was too much 
for him. He struggled to rise, clutching his son’s 
arm, shoulder, neck, and leaning his weight upon 
him while he made distressing efforts to articulate. 
Evelyn's heart almost stopped. 

•“ Father — dear father — what is it ? ” he cried. 

“ Who ? Who ? Her name ?” screamed Mr. West- 
morland, at last ; but the scream was little more than 
a whisper. 

“Her name? Miss Forde — Leo Forde,” replied 
the bewildered Evelyn, his eyes fixed in dismay upon 
the now almost inanimate form in his arms. 

“Father — father ! ” was again his helpless cry, as, 
his heart bitterly reproaching him for his clumsy 
way of announcing his tidings, he carefully lowered 
his burden into a chair. “ Good God ! ” he gasped, 
as he looked into the face, an icy terror griping his 
heart. 

For an instant he recoiled, then sprang to the bell 
and rang it violently, convulsively ; then darted back 
to the chair, flung himself on his knees beside it, and 
cried in vain to ears which did not hear. 

The ladies' committee were settling the interesting 
and important question of what badges should be 
worn by the stewards. They had just reached the 
point of red rosettes when Mrs. Saxon, glancing up, 


THE IDES OF MARCH. 


rj2 

saw one of the grooms, mounted on a fast horse, 
dash past the window and disappear. She at 
once rang, and, without interrupting the business 
of the meeting, quietly asked the servant what was 
wrong. 

“ Mr. Westmorland has had a paralytic stroke, 
ma’am. The left side of his face is all drawn down 
— he looks awful, ma’am. The master, and the 
Major, and Farren, they’ve carried him upstairs. 

“I should have been told at once,” said Mrs. 
Saxon. 

In a whisper she conveyed to Mrs. Dunster, the 
bishop’s wife, the fact that she was wanted for a few 
minutes, and must depute the conduct of the meeting 
to her, then noiselessly left the room and went up- 
stairs. 

Leo Forde, in a clean white dress, stood at the 
drawing-room window in Minstergate, watching for 
the appearance of her lover and his father. At the 
piano sat Captain Disney, much at his ease, trying 
over the last new valse. 

“By George, that would be a good one to dance 
to ! ” he cried, playing it softly over, and melodiously 
whistling the air as an accompaniment. “ Do you 
dance, Miss Forde ? ” 

“Whenever I get a chance,” said conscientious 
Leo, with a smile. 

“ I should think so,” laughed Dick, who was wait- 
ing at home to receive the Westmorlands ; “she is 
the best dancer in Norchester.” 

“Ah! Pity Westmorland doesn’t dance,” said 
Disney, who had not yet quite recovered from the 
shock of hearing that Leo was engaged. 

“ Doesn’t he ?” asked Leo, disappointedly. 

“ You couldn’t fancy him at it, could you? Too 
massive ! ” said Disney, laughing. 

The girl drew herself up with the intention of re- 
senting this small 'impertinence ; but the smiling face 
which the player turned to her, over his shoulder, 


THE IDES OP MARCH. 


m 

was so handsome and so playful that she could not 
resist it. 

It was wonderful how quickly one became inti- 
mate with the Captain. 

“Who was the lady up at the station, to-day, 
who glared at you so ferociously, Miss Forde ? ” he 
asked. 

“Was there ? ” said Leo, ungrammatically. “I 
didn't see." 

“A lady with a high colour and a gown to 
match.” 

“Mrs. Hancock!” cried Leo. “I did not see 
her ! Are you sure ? ” 

“ Not sure that her name is Hancock, but sure that 
she had her eye on you. I had been watching her 
for some time ; she came with a man who was a 
cross between a commercial traveller and a mis- 
sionary, and saw him off by a train that left just as 
yours came in.” 

“ Ah ! That is her son ! I am glad he is gone : 
he was dreadful. Oh, dear! dear! Talk of an 
angel,” cried she, turning from the window in con- 
sternation, “here she comes, Dick! Yes, really! 
And she saw me in the window, so I can't say ‘ not 
at home.’ Oh ! ” as the bell rang, “you will both 
stop and help me to bear it, worit you ? ” 

A deep hush fell on the party, as a determined 
voice was heard in the passage, and in another 
moment Leo's neat little housemaid had announced, 

“Mrs. Hancock.” 

The lady rustled in, and, as Tom would have said, 
immediately “spotted” the Captain who had twirled 
round on his music-stool, and was lightly passing a 
cambric handkerchief over his golden moustache. 
Her eagle eye likewise noticed the cheerful fire which 
burned in the grate, and Leo's sumptuous rose posy, 
transferred to a crystal bowl on a small table in the 
window. 

In some mysterious way, the extreme cosiness of 
these three young people annoyed her. 

18 


THE IDES OF MARCH. 


274 

“So, Leonora, I have come to see if you have 
quite got the better of your accident/’ said she, delib- 
erately seating herself. 

“Are you speaking to me, Mrs. Hancock ?” said 
Leo, innocently. “ My name is not Leonora.” 

“What accident are you referring to, Mrs. Han- 
cock ? ” asked Richard, affably. 

“Well, I’m sure! Why, it's not more than three 
or four weeks since your sister was nearly burned 
to death,” cried the lady, indignantly. 

“ Oh, Mrs. Hancock, indeed I wasn’t ! ” said Leo, 
laughingly. “ Let me introduce my brother’s friend, 
Captain Disney.” 

Mrs. Hancock fixed her calculating eye upon 
him. 

“ I have seen you driving nasty, dangerous horses 
about the town,” she remarked. 

“I don't know about dangerous, they were most 
unquestionably nasty,” smiled Edgar. “I should 
have supposed a town of this size would have raised 
a better turn-out ; but I am happy to tell you that 
my own mare arrived to-day, and I trust she may 
meet with your approval.” 

“Were you staying at the ‘Swan’? ” she went on, 
still persistently staring at the warrior. 

“I was, till my friend Forde came back; I think 
you may congratulate me on having now changed 
my quarters for the better.” 

“ Ho ! ” said the lady, with a sniff, looking 
daggers at Leo. “Do you propose a long stay in 
Norchester, Captain Disney ? ” 

“I expect I shall stay as long as Miss Forde will 
keep me. My friend Forde here is pretty sure he 
can get me permission to shoot the Hesselburgh 
coverts.” 

“I should not be at all surprised,” said the lady, 
with ponderous sarcasm. 

“Capital folks, the Saxons seem to be ; they are a 
real blessing to the neighbourhood, I should think,” 
went on Disney, chattily ; he was enjoying himself 


THE IDES OF MATCH. 


275 

greatly. “You know them, of course ?” he added, 
politely. 

Mrs. Hancock fairly shook with fury. 

“Mrs. Saxon is not on my visiting list,” said she, 
with a voice and look whose acerbity is not to be 
described, ‘ ‘ and I can moreover assure you, sir, that 
the family in question is not considered an addition 
by the old established families round Norchester.” 

“You surprise me,” said the Captain, with an air 
of deep interest, “but I have always heard these 
out-of-the-way cathedral towns are extremely 
cliquy. ” 

“You are no gentleman,” said Mrs. Hancock, 
growing purple in the face, “ to say such a thing of 
the town in which I was born.” 

“I can’t help thinking I was justified,” he answered, 
suavely. “You will remember that you have just, 
in Mr. Forde’s house, made an insulting remark on 
the Saxons, whom you knew to be his friends ; I 
merely followed your lead, and disparaged the town 
to which I believe you to be attached. I fancy we 
are quits.” 

“Dr. Forde, do you mean to suffer me to be 
treated in this way on a friendly visit to yourself?” 

“ Certainly not, madam,” said Richard, with pon- 
derous gravity. “I am sure, my friend will apolo- 
gise ; he must for the moment have forgotten that 
custom bestows on ladies the monopoly of making 
personal remarks.” 

“I make my apologies, through you, Mrs. Han- 
cock, to the entire town of Norchester,” said Disney at 
once, rising and bowing to her; “and now may I 
entreat you to overlook this slight unpleasantness, 
and give me an account of Miss Forde’s accident, of 
which I have never heard a word.” 

The expression of Mrs. Hancock’s eyes was still 
sufficiently malign to have daunted all Norchester, 
save and except the un regenerate three then present. 
Disney had made an enemy — a thing he rarely did. 
From that moment she sought opportunity to injure 


THE IDES OF MARCH. 


276 

him. She knew that he had made fun of her, but she 
was uncertain to what extent ; it was this uncertainty, 
as to exactly how ridiculous she appeared in his eyes, 
which caused her to dislike him, as, vaguely, she had 
always disliked Leo. 

“ I am glad I had the courage to speak up,” she 
subsequently remarked, when detailing his outrageous 
behaviour to Mrs. Shorthouse. “ Anybody may 
know my opinion of the Saxons ! Of course the 
Fordes think themselves everything just because they 
know them, but I can tell them pride goes before a 
fall ! I call this Health Mummery downright disgust- 
ing, arid a disgrace to the town. Have you glanced 
at any of the pamphlets circulated by this Sanitary 
League? To put it mildly, they are most indelicate. 
I was obliged to lay them all on one side when Sayers 
was at home : one was about tight lacing , if you will 
believe me, and actually coritained a drawing of — 
but I will not shock you with details.” 

“ Dear Mrs. Hancock, you surprise me ; I thought 
the League was doing so much good ; and my hus- 
band is to address the meeting, ” answered the Canon’s 
wife, who had become strangely half-hearted in her 
allegiance, ever since the Hesselburgh dinner-party. 
“The Canon agrees with the Bishop that we must 
march with the times, and he considers Mrs. Saxon 
a very able woman, though peculiar — peculiar, I grant 
you ! ” 

“Oh, the whole town may turn round if it likes, and 
fall down and worship Mrs. Saxon, red hair, billy- 
cock, and all,” said Mrs. Hancock, icily. “Iam one 
who holds to her own opinion, and I repeat, I am 
glad I said what I did, and where I did, and I don't 
care if all Norchester knows it ; ” and she assumed 
the air of one who feels that the eyes of the world are 
upon her. This, of course, was after her morning 
call at Minstergate ; and it was destined to come to 
a very abrupt conclusion. 

A ring had been heard, coupled with a knock at 
the door, and Leo’s cheeks had crimsoned in anticipa- 


THE /EES OF MARCH. 


*77 

tion of the entrance of Major Westmorland. Instead 
of that, the housemaid appeared, and said to Dick, 

“ You’re wanted at once, sir.” 

He hastily went out, and returned in a very few 
moments, saying decidedly, 

“Mrs. Hancock, I am afraid we must deny our- 
selves the pleasure of a longer visit this afternoon. I 
want to speak to my sister on a matter of impor- 
tance.” 

“Most sorry to have intruded,” said the lady, 
caustically, as she rose in a tremor of indignation. 
To be literally turned out, without any tea being 
offered to her, and just at the moment when some- 
thing of great interest was manifestly going forward ! 
“What can you expect ? ” she reflected. “ Boy and 
girl like that, setting up housekeeping ? They don’t 
know how to behave themselves, of course. That 
insolent young man has no right to be staying there 
without a chaperon. Certainly Richard Forde is bent 
on making a match for his sister. If they don’t 
catch the Major, they will have the Captain.” 

The said Captain accompanied the guest downstairs, 
and did not hasten his return : but in a very short 
time Dick came hurrying down, his hat in his hand. 

“ Off to Hesselburgh,” he explained, “Westmor- 
land pere has had a stroke. Very unlucky for poor 
little Leo,— cheer her up, he is sure to get on all right ; 
tell her I’ll bring the Major back with me.” 


278 


THE IDES OF MARCH. 


CHAPTER XXXII. 

hope's mission. 

Never any more, 

While I live. 

Need I hope to see his face 
As before. 

R. Browning. 

“Dalby Sands, 

“ Saturday night. 

“ My Dear Miss Merrion, 

“ I do hope you’ll forgive my intruding 
upon your attention, but I feel sure I ought to write 
to you about Guy — perhaps you may have heard 
from Mrs. Merrion, and so know her address, and be 
able to send this on to her. When she left, Guy was 
far from well, but she thought me over anxious, and 
refused to have a doctor. 

“The journey from Eastbourne here, made him 
much worse, and the most unsatisfactory thing is, 
that Mr. Humbey, the doctor here, for whom I sent 
at once on our arrival, does not know what is the 
matter with him, though he thinks seriously of the 
case. He wishes to have another opinion, and Mrs. 
Merrion is so very particular, I am really afraid to 
telegraph to London on my own responsibility. To- 
day Wilfred also seemed unwell, and, at my wits’ end, 
I write to beg you to send a telegram authorising me 
to send for Dr. Rankin Gardner, and also, if possible, 
let me know Mrs. Merrion’s address. She promised 
to send it at once on arriving, but they have been 
gone a week, and I have not heard. I hope this is 
intelligible ; I am so disturbed, I scarcely know what 


THE IDES OF MARCH. 


279 

I write. You are always so kind, I turn instinctively 
to you in my trouble. 

“I am 

“Most sincerely yours, 

“Mabel Thorpe.” 

Hope began to read this letter listlessly. 

It was two days since her accident. The first she 
had spent in bed, to-day she was up and dressed, but 
still on the sofa in her room. 

She was very little the worse, it seemed, for her 
mischance. The day in bed had taken away the pains 
in her limbs, and though still stiff, and with one cheek 
much discoloured by a bad bruise, she was whole and 
sound, and had not even a cold. In fact, she had 
been obliged to plead more fatigue than she felt, as 
an excuse for remaining upstairs : to go down and 
face Gilbert Greville and Tom had been, for some 
occult reason, impossible. She felt that her own 
room was her only refuge, until she left Learning, 
which she intended to do as soon as she could. 

She had yesterday despatched a letter to Ireland, 
begging Lady Caroline Loftus to let her come to her 
on a long visit ; but Mable Thorpe’s letter cut the 
knot of her difficulties at once. 

In the desolation of her heart, it was sweet, with a 
sweetness hard to analyse, to feel that somebody 
wanted her, and was sending for her. Miss Merrion, 
the heiress, rich and admired, felt strangely friendless 
and forsaken. 

True, there was Gilbert Greville downstairs, await- 
ing only her word : ready, at her slightest signal, to 
give her everything he had, or was. Ah, but what 
a vast return he expected to such seeming generosity ! 
He would want no less than herself, body and soul. 
She could not give him that. Why not ? She did 
not know— only she felt that it was impossible. 

She was really far more exhausted than she herself 
guessed. Some strange excitement was possessing 
her, and giving her a fictitious energy. 


280 


THE IDES OF MARCH. 


She had scarcely slept at all, since she left the huts 
of the charcoal-burners : it seemed to her that she 
no longer needed sleep — as if the only thing worth 
doing were to live over and over again in thought the 
incidents of the last few days ; and all the time she 
seriously told herself that she was doing her best to 
forget it all. 

This letter,- mercifully for her, gave a new turn to 
her thoughts, and drew them from herself. Here was 
work for her — here was a direct call. 

As soon as she had grasped the sense of it, she rang 
the bell for her maid : as she did so, her eye fell on 
the date of the letter, and to her horror she found that 
it was three days back. Glancing at the address, she 
saw that it had been sent to Hesselburgh and for- 
warded thence. 

“Ask Mr. Lyster if he will be so extremely kind a.s 
to come up here and see me,” cried she, when her 
summons was answered, 

Mollie came at once, laden with grapes and peaches. 

“My dear, I am so pleased you are looking so 
well ! ” he cried, affectionately. 

“Oh, yes, Mollie, I am quite well — quite! And I 
have had such a letter ! My brother’s children are so 
ill, and my sister-in-law has gone off abroad leaving 
them with a young governess, and I must go to them 
at once ! Is there a train to London I could catch 
to-day ? ” 

“My dear ! Train ! London ! To-day ! ”he cried. 

“Oh, Mollie, I must! Indeed I must ! See here ! 
She asks me to telegraph, and I ought to have had 
the letter yesterday ! She will think I am as heartless 
and unfeeling as the rest ! She will not know what 
to do ! ” 

Mollie took the letter from her, and mastered its 
contents. 

“You are not fit to travel, dear,” he said at last. 

“ I shall fret myself into a fever if I am not doing 
something at once ! Indeed I shall ! Poor Guy ! 
He is such a darling ! ” 


THE IDES OF MATCH, 28 1 

“ Here comes Muriel — let us hear her,” saidMollie, 
as Miss Saxon walked in. 

“I know she will judge as I do!” cried Hope, 
eagerly. “And I am quite well — what is the matter 
with me? I have no disease ! The worst that could 
befall would be a little fatigue, and Bowen is with me 
to take care of me ! ” She was working herself up 
into a state of great excitement. 

“ I will go and get Bradshaw, ” said Mollie, meekly. 

“I have just had a telegram from mother,” said 
Muriel, as soon as they were alone, “saying we are 
to go back directly, to help her over this horrid 
Sanitary League. I suppose you won’t come, because 
of Captain Disney ? ” 

“ Certainly not ; I could not possibly ! ” cried poor 
Hope, the crimson flaming into her small ; pale face. 
“Not for anything could I go to Hesselburgh now, 
Murie ! And of course I can’t stay here without you, 
so that settles it.” 

“I could easily telegraph the mater that you were 
bad, and that I could not leave you ” 

“Oh, that would be nonsense ! I am not ill.” 

She sprang up and walked about the room. 

“Ill ! No such thing,” she cried ; “and, besides, 
I am in such a state of mind about Guy.” 

“I should think,” slowly pronounced Muriel, 
“ that perhaps you had better go.” 

“There is no question about it — I must,” again 
cried Hope. “Oh, Murie, Murie! I have made 
such a mess of things in general. I told you once, at 
Hesselburgh, that I did no- want to die. I — believe 
— I — half think — I have changed my mind ! ” 

“What nonsense, Hope! If you talk like that, I 
shall really think you ought not to travel. ” 

Hope was silent, leaning her flushed cheek against 
her sofa-pillow. 

Mollie re-entered. 

“There is a train at half-past two, ” he said, “which 
will get you to London at eight o’clock. Change at 
Brereley, of course. You will have to sleep at the 


282 


THE IDES OF MARCH. 


Great Northern Hotel, and go to Dalby next mom- 
ing. ” 

‘ ‘ Why not to-night ? ” 

‘ ‘ The only train you could catch would be such a 
late one. You see, you must drive from Kings Cross 
to Victoria, and you could not get anything earlier 
than the 9.40. You would not be there before mid- 
night. ” 

“I must see,” said Hope, hurriedly, “about that. 
Perhaps it would be better not to keep them up. 
But oh ! I shall be so impatient until I am there.” 

“You must bestir yourself with your packing,” he 
said, ‘ ‘ for you ought to start in an hour and a quarter 
from now. Hey, Muriel, do you think it prudent ? ” 

“I think perhaps, on the whole, she had better go, 
Mollie. Of course she must have a carriage to her- 
self, and then she can lie down all the way : and 
Bowen is very good and clever at travelling.” 

“You will not be able to take leave of Tom and 
Greville, they are shooting,” said Mollie. 

“It cannot be helped,” replied Hope, heaving an 
inward sigh of relief. 

“ Well, I had better order the carriage and an early 
luncheon,” said Mollie ; “but in my opinion you had 
better not go, my dear.” 

He might as well have told the cutting, chill wind 
outside that, in his opinion, it ought not to blow. 
Hope was quite determined. He left them to make 
all necessary preparations. 

Muriel put Hope on the sofa, sternly forbidding 
any exertion, and Bowen and she, in three quarters 
of an hour, had finished everything. Then, when 
she had despatched the maid to have some dinner, 
Muriel asked, with an odd little smile, 

“What am I to say to Mr. Greville when you are 
gone ? ” 

‘ ‘ Oh, I don’t know ! Anything you like that will 
prevent his following me ! These unattached men 
are dreadful — they can follow you about from place 
to place,” 


THE IDES OF MARCH. 


283 

Muriel sat down on the sofa beside her friend, 
placing her arm round her — a most rare manifestation 
of attachment on her part. 

“ Hope,” said she, in her soft, even way, “is that 
quite genuine ? Don’t you care for him ? Or is it 
that you are upset, and not very well, and would like 
things to stand over for a little ? ” 

There was a silence before Hope answered ; then 
her voice was quite firm and decided. 

“I think I shall never marry him, Murie. Certainly 
not for years and years to come. I will not be so 
unwise as to take vows of celibacy : at the present 
moment it seems impossible that 1 should marry : I 
know that just now my feelings are exaggerated ; but 
I have a deep conviction that months hence, when I 
have settled down again, I shall feel the same as 
regards marriage with any one.” 

She paused : Muriel, feeling that more was to come, 
said nothing, but drew her a little closer. 

* ‘ I was wrong to engage myself to Mr. Disney, ” 
said Hope, continuing, “but I almost think I have 
been punished enough.” ... A gathering emotion 
made her hesitate, to steady her voice. “You must 
not think,” said she then, “ anything that is — that is 
sentimental, or — or — foolish, if I say something. ” 

“I shall understand,” said Muriel, simply. 

“ It is hard to say, but it amounts to this. He . . . 
Major Westmorland ” — she spoke the name firmly — 
“is a man whose judgment I respect. He is a man 
with a lofty ideal : not like — other people. I should 
have been proud of his good opinion, glad to think 
that he liked me. Because of that Disney affair — he 
despised me. To be despised is worse than to be 
hated — Browning says so — oh ! many degrees worse ! 
. . . Ah, well ! ” she rose, and went to the dressing- 
table, “it is over now; but somehow I feel quite 
different,” — she looked round as if even the room she 
stood in had altered its aspect in her eyes. “It is 
hard to understand what can have happened exactly 
to change me so : there does not seem reason enough, 


THE IDES OF MARCH 


284 

does there ? I cannot quite unravel it ; but, Muriel, 
I am changed/' 

“ Yes," said Muriel, “you are ; " and her eyes had 
tears in them. 

“After I broke it off with Edgar," went on Hope, 
reflectively, “I was very unhappy. But I knew I 
had made a mistake, and I looked forward to getting 
over it, enjoying life again, having all my pleasures 
as I used to do. Now . . . it is all quite different : I 
feel so beaten down ” 

She stopped very suddenly, standing still, with her 
hands wrung together, and Muriel feared she was 
going to break down. However, she recovered her- 
self, in a grave, patient manner which was heroic in 
its way, and, after a very short silence, added, in her 
usual voice, 

“And so I believe it must be time to leave off 
thinking about myself, and give my mind to other 
people : the children, for instance. " 

“ Yes,” replied Muriel, tenderly, “ I am glad you 
are going to the children.” 

Crossing the room to her side, Hope bent down 
and kissed her. 

“You are good to me,” she said. 

“I love you,” replied Muriel, quietly. 

“Well," said Hope, after a short interval, “I sup- 
pose we ought to go downstairs." 

“Yes." Muriel rose, and furtively wiped away a 
couple of tears. “ Mind you write to me, Hope ; we 
all go to Scotland the day after this Sanitary League 
function.” 

Hope gave the required promise; and, as they 
were descending the staircase together, Muriel re- 
marked, 

“I think, on the whole, it will not be wise to raise 
Mr. Greville’s hopes too high.” 

A drizzle of rain set in as Mr. Lyster and Muriel, 
with their young guest, seated themselves in the 
brougham. 

“ The sky is shedding tears," said Muriel, “because 


THE IDES OF MARCH 


285 

our nice party is broken up and gone. I wonder how 
they all got on yesterday, and what Mr. Westmor- 
land will think of the match ! ” 

“Muriel,” said Mollie, gravely, “in my humble 
opinion that’s a pity, and though I hope I am not 
inhospitable, I must confess I am sorry I invited Miss 
Forde here, sorry it should have happened under my 
roof. She is too young. In my opinion, marriage is 
for men and women, not for girls and boys, who 
never stop to consider their responsibilities. I must 
say I am disappointed in Major Westmorland, I 
thought he had more sense.” 

Muriel hesitated how to answer him; for she 
guessed that the subject was painful to Hope. At 
last she said, 

. “I have no doubt he will make her happy. I only 
wonder if she will do the same for him. She does 
not understand him in the very least.” 

Hope nerved herself to make a remark. 

“ There is a wonderful kind of intuition,” said she, 
“which in a case of love seems almost to take the 
place of reason in a woman : she does and says what 
pleases, hardly knowing that she does so ; and the 
man is just as well satisfied.” 

“ Some men,” said Muriel, “perhaps. But I have 
noticed that, in cases where a man, a maturely de- 
veloped man like the Major, marries a pretty little 
girl, they seem to fall apart so much afterwards. You 
remember the Melton marriage, Mollie. ” 

“ Yes,” said Mr. Lyster, thoughtfully, “but it is 
hard to define a limit of age exactly. Now you, 
Murie, are only a year or so older than Leone Forde. 
But you have been taught to think ; your mother has 
encouraged you to exercise your judgment. I am 
certain that, if you accepted a man, it would be 
because he was your deliberate choice ; with that 
pretty child, I cannot help feeling that it is merely a 
case of her first offer. ” 

“Oh, most probably,” said Muriel ; she could not 
add her own deliberate conviction that, not only was 


286 


THE IDES OF MARCH. 

the Major not in love with Leone, but that he was in 
love with some one else. 

Mollie rubbed his forehead with his pocket-hand- 
kerchief, a thing he frequently did when bothered ; 
then he bestirred himself, and cried, cheerily, 

“Come, let us change the subject. We must not 
send off our Hope in bad spirits. I daresay it will 
all come right. We must not be depressed, or we 
shall despatch her in a melancholy frame of mind, 
which will never do, with such a long journey before 
her. I hope you will find the patient much better, 
my dear child. What a comfort to the young gover- 
ness to have you with her ! A charming letter she 
writes, I think she must be a nice girl. ” 

“I admire her as sincerely as any girl I know,” 
replied Hope ; and then, partly to make conversation, 
and partly because the subject filled her with a real 
sympathy, and she knew the kind-heartedness of her 
listener, she told the story of Mabel Thorpe’s love 
affair, and of her patient courage. 

Hope could be eloquent when she pleased ; an elo- 
quence, perhaps, more of eye and voice than of 
tongue. Mr. Lyster fastened upon the story with 
keenly awakened interest. 

“Dear, dear!” he said, when it was finished, 
“now, can’t we do something here? Is there noth- 
ing to be done to help them ? Poor young things ! 
what a touching story ! ” 

He was lost in thought for a few minutes, and 
Hope recalled Mr. Greville’s suggestion that she should 
apply to Major Westmorland. 

“I have an idea, Hope,” suddenly said Mollie. 
“It is not very brilliant, but still it is an idea and it is 
this. As you remarked last Sunday, poor old Mr. 
Wetherell is failing terribly. I have promised him a 
curate before winter, for he is quite unequal to getting 
about in the bad weather ; he has never been himself 
since Nellie’s death ; ” and the kind little man sighed. 

“Now, my idea,” he went on, “was that the 
curate should rent the little stone cottage in the park. 


. THE IDES OF MARCH. 287 

with the roses on the porch. But now the thought 
simmering in my brain is this : suppose I gave Arthur 
Strange the cottage, rent free, and two hundred and 
fifty pounds a year, do you think the young couple 
would marry on that if he had the promise of the 
living when poor old Wetherell goes ? ” 

Hope cried out with pleasure and astonishment. 

“It wouldn’t do if he is an ambitious man,” said 
Mollie, thoughtfully, “ for the place is — you see what 
it is, even in summer, and it is terribly lonely in win- 
ter. But the air is fine, the work is light, and that 
is a pretty cottage, my dear. A good garden, and 
pasture to keep a cow, if they liked. The living is 
worth four hundred and fifty pounds — which is large, 
you know, for such a small village.” 

“They would think it Paradise ! ” cried Hope, her 
face aglow, her hands clasped. 

“We mustn’t be too precipitate,” said Mollie, “I 
must see Wetherell first, for I must not foist upon him 
a curate he does not take to. But he will be sure to 
sympathise with a governess : poor Nellie was a 
governess, you know ! Then, the thing to do will 
be to get young Strange down here and have a talk 
with him. Do you know his address ? ” 

“ Yes — oh, yes ! ” 

“ Well then, Hope, you write it down here for me, 
and I will communicate with him direct. Don’t say 
a word about it to the poor girl, in case it can’t be 
arranged after all. I will write to you as soon as 
anything is settled, you know.” 

Hope was quite overcome. 

“Mollie,” she said, unsteadily, “if this can be 
done it will be, I think, the greatest kindness you 
ever did in your life. If I am the means, even so 
indirectly, of helping Mabel Thorpe, I shall feel that 
I have not lived utterly for myself — that there does 
exist one human being who has been helped through 
me I 


288 


THE IDES OF MARCH. 


CHAPTER XXXIII. 

I FEEL AS IF I SHOULD BE GLAD TO DIE. 

God answers some prayers sharp and suddenly, 

And thrusts the thing we have prayed for in our face, 

A gauntlet with a gift in’t ; every wish 

Is like a prayer with God. Aurora Leigh . 

“Am I to give her this ?” asked the neatly-attired 
hospital-nurse, placing a telegram in the hands of Dr. 
Humbey. 

He took it with knit brows, and read : 

“ Send at once for physician , nurses , anything you 
require. Shall be with you to-night about eleven. — Hope 
Merrion. ” 

“ Is that the mother ? ” he asked. 

“ I think not. Little Adeline says it is her aunt. 
If she is an experienced person it would be a great 
relief to have her. ” 

The doctor looked perplexed, 

“Suppose she has never had it?” he suggested ; 
“ she ought not to come into the house until We 
know.” 

“ How will you stop her ? There is no address to 
this. Handed in at the Learning Road office. Have 
you the least idea where Learning Road is ? ” 

Dr. Humbey shook his head, adding. 

“ If I had, it would not be much use, for Mrs. or 
Miss Merrion has, in all probability, left there by 
now. ” 

“ Well, I must go back to my patient,” replied 
Nurse White. “I leave you to do as you think best 
about it, but I shall not rouse Miss Thorpe to speak 
to her upon the subject; if she asks any question, 
then I shall tell her.” 


THE IDES OF MARCH \ 


289 

That will be the best way. I will be here to- 
night, meet this lady at the door, and explain the 
circumstances.” 

It was nearly half-past eleven that night, before 
the station fly, containing Hope, her maid, and her 
lu ggage, drove up to Sea View Parade. 

The long journey had naturally tired her, but she 
was not as worn out as Bowen expected she would 
be. The idea of coming to the children, of being of 
use, was keeping her up. 

Directly the fly stopped, the door opened, and an 
elderly gentleman appeared on the threshold, came 
out, and approached the window, where Hope looked 
eagerly forth. 

“ Dear me ! ” exclaimed he, in irrepressible surprise 
at her youthful appearance. “Are you Miss Mer- 
rion ? ” 

“Yes, yes! And you? The doctor? Oh, is he 
very ill ? ” cried she, in great agitation. 

He looked pityingly at her. 

“ I must not let you come into the house, indeed,” 
he said. “ It is scarlet fever.” 

“ Oh, miss ! ” cried Bowen clutching her from be- 
hind, as if to keep her from rushing into infection. 

“Scarlet fever ! ” cried Hope. “ Oh, but that does 
not matter I I have had it ! Poor little boy, how is 
he?” 

“I hope out of danger now ; but Wilfred has it, 
and Miss Thorpe is quite prostrated.” 

“ Miss Thorpe ! ” 

“She sickened two days ago, but would not give 
in until we thought Guy was safe. I have been 
obliged, in the absence of any orders, to take a good 
deal upon myself. I telegraphed last night for a 
nurse. ” 

“ That was right,” faintly said Hope, feeling over- 
whelmed. “ I am very grateful. Now Bowen and 
I can help. Bowen is a very good nurse. Is there 
room for us ? ” 

“In the house? Oh, yes. The other lodgers of 
*9 


THE IDES OF MARCH. 


29O 

course decamped, when they heard what it was ” 

“ But Miss Merrion ! ” cried Bowen, “ are you sure 
you have had the fever ? ” 

“ Yes, quite sure,” repeated Hope, vehemently. 
‘ ‘ All children have it, of course I had it. Let me 
come in at once ; and please see to the luggage, 
Bowen. Has nothing been heard from Mrs. Mer- 
rion ? ” she asked, as she hastened into the house. 

“ Miss Merrion, are you quite sure you do right to 
come here ? ” said the doctor. 

“ Why, certainly,” she cried, “ I must come! 
What a wretch I should be to go away and leave 
them ! Besides, I don’t want to knock up the hotel 
people at this unearthly hour. I am afraid it is very 
inconvenient and very thoughtless of me to arrive at 
such a time — so late ; but as I telegraphed I hoped 
they would have prepared. I never dreamed that 
Miss Thorpe would be ill.” 

‘ ‘ Poor girl, she was so worn out with anxiety and 
nursing that I am afraid it will go hard with her,” 
said Dr. Humbey, pityingly with an admiring gaze 
at the new arrival, as she sank into an arm-chair and 
pulled off her gloves. 

He then proceeded to give an outline of events. 

Guy’s illness had been what is known among 
doctors as suppressed scarlet fever, that is to say, 
scarlet fever without the usual accompaniments of 
sore throat and red rash. Had any practised doctor 
seen him when he was first ill, he would have known 
what it must be ; but Dr. Humbey, who did not see 
him until his railway journey had given him a chill 
and he was suffering from congested lungs, was un- 
certain, though, from what he was told, he guessed 
accurately what complaint he had to deal with. 

Before the arrival of the London physician, the 
doctor’s conclusion had been proved by the sickening 
of Wilfred, with all the recognised symptoms. The 
whole of the day after Mabel Thorpe despatched her 
imploring letter to Hope, Guy had lain at the gate of 
death. The responsibility had been terrible. Nobody 


THE IDES OF MARCH. 


291 

knew how to communicate with any of the child's 
relations. Late at night, his delirious ravings, grow- 
ing gradually feebler, subsided into stupor, and this 
stupor, by-and-by changing its character, seemed to 
become a natural sleep. 

All through the night, with every nerve strained, 
Miss Thorpe watched for his waking — the waking on 
which hung life or death. But still the child slept on, 
and was sleeping when Dr. Humbey came after break- 
fast. He sat down by the bed and watched too, and 
at about eleven Guy stirred. 

“It was pitiful to see that girl's face," said the 
doctor. “Some women have the mother instinct so 
strong in them — if it had been her own boy, she could 
scarcely have felt it more. I had told her that, if he 
was sensible when he woke, he would in all pro- 
bability pull through. So he tossed about a bit, and 
opened those great eyes of his, and he saw Torpie, 
as they call her, standing by the bed. He looked 
reflectively at her, a bit of a thing, with the breath 
almost out of his body, and an expression in his eyes 
as if he were half in heaven already; and, ‘I say, 
Torpie dear, 'says he, as cool as you please, ‘I hope 
my crab's not dead ? ' The revulsion of feeling was 
too much for her. His green, sandy crab, that he 
kept in a bucket of salt water ! I had seen her crying 
her heart out over the rubbish the night before as 
she fed it ; everything the little scamp had touched 
seemed sacred. To hear him calling out for it as if 
nothing had happened was more than she could bear. 
She just managed to gasp out, ‘ It’s alive — I'll bring 
it ; ' then away she ran, and fell like a stone on the 
landing. I picked her up, made her go to bed, and 
sent for Nurse White. She’s the right kind of woman, 
and no mistake. " 

“ Is she very ill ? " asked Hope. 

4 ‘ I am afraid so, " he replied, reluctantly. 

“The first thing I must do," said she, “is to let 
her mother know." 

“Certainly, her mother should be told. She need 


THE IDES OF MARCH. 


292 

not come — at present. But warn her to be ready in 
case of a summons.” 

“ Oh ! ” cried Hope, “ is it as bad as that ? What 
can my sister be about to send no address ? Why, all 
her children might be burned to death, and she would 
not know it ! She has been gone more than a week. 
However, she would be no use here. She is better 
away, after all.” 

Bowen here entered the room. 

“If you please, miss, I have taken a cup of soup 
to your room, and you must go to bed at once, as I 
am sure the doctor would tell you, if you wish to be 
of any use to-morrow.” 

Hope rose. 

“I will go : I wfill do whatever you tell me, so that 
you allow me to think I am being of use,” cried she. 

And so engrossing was this new atmosphere of 
anxiety and care in which she found herself, that 
her own thoughts and her own sorrows sank away 
into insignificance, and that night, for the first time 
since Evelyn refused to take her hand, she slept 
soundly. 

The next few days were indeed full ones for her. 
Into them so many emotions crowded that life seemed 
to her a different, a deeper thing than she had ever 
believed it. It was a life of complete isolation, for 
they knew nobody in Dalby Sands. Moreover, what- 
ever acquaintance they might have had there, would 
of course have shunned the stricken house. On con- 
sideration, Hope had decided not to say anything of 
the scarlet fever to her friends at Hesselburgh, partly 
because she knew that infection may be conveyed in 
a letter. She merely telegraphed the news of her 
safe arrival, and Muriel was, during the next few 
days, so busy with the Women’s Sanitary League 
that she had no time to write ; and, when that was 
over, the Saxons went to their father’s relations in 
Scotland, and Evelyn took his paralysed father home 
to Feverell Chase. 

The very day after Hope’s arrival, came a short 


THE WES OP MARCH. 


m 

note from Bertha. They were having- a very enjoy- 
able trip, said she, writing from Niirnberg. For the 
next week their movements would be uncertain — 
they would be in small villages in the Bavarian 
Tyrol, but, a week hence, letters would find them at 
Salzburg. 

Hope immediately telegraphed to Niirnberg, but 
the Merrions had left before the message arrived, and 
they did not receive it. She was obliged to content 
herself with writing a letter to her sister-in-law, 
couched in no measured terms : a letter which Mrs. 
Frederic Merrion never either forgot or forgave. 

As little Adeline had been so long exposed to the 
infection before the danger was discovered, the 
doctor, believing that she must certainly take the 
fever, did not send her away, but kept her isolated 
from the others, with her nurse to look after her, and 
so far she had not sickened. 

Still, the three separate sick-rooms entailed a large 
amount of care and nursing; for Guy, as yet, was 
too weak to bear the clamour of Wilfred, who had 
taken the complaint in its mildest form, and required 
a firm hand to keep him in bed. The nursery-maid, 
who had had scarlet fever only a few years back, 
and so was not afraid of it, found herself quite un- 
able to cope with him. Bowen, however, ruled him 
with a rod of iron, so deputing to Hope the, at 
present, comparatively easy task of sitting by Guy's 
bed, and leaving Nurse White free to devote all her 
attention to Miss Thorpe, who was seriously ill. 

Bowen was a cool, practical woman, with an eye 
to the main chance ; her one redeeming tenderness 
was her devotion to her mistress. Hope was of that 
fast disappearing class of people who possess the art 
of attaching to themselves all those of a lower order 
with whom they come in contact. Bowen's last 
mistress had often reflected how rich her maid must 
be growing on her perquisites : this very same maid 
would not have stolen a shoe-lace from Hope ; in 
her service she would cheerfully undertake what in 


THE IDES OF MATCH. 


294 

another situation she would have flatly declined to 
attempt. It was Hope who had got Bowen’s con- 
sumptive niece into the Ventnor hospital, and 
obtained for her brother that excellent place as 
groom. Hope knew about, and sympathised with, 
all the private hopes and fears of the reserved woman, 
and never forgot to ask after the delicate sister-in- 
law, or the progress of the young niece for whose 
dressmaking apprenticeship her maid was paying. 
Consequently, she was waited upon, hand and foot, 
and now was suffered to feel no slightest incon- 
venience from the rudimentary nature of lodging- 
hOuse cookery, nor the scantiness of lodging-house 
jugs of tepid water,' for purposes of ablution. 

Bowen was greatly astonished, the first day of 
their stay at Sea View Parade, to find how energetic 
and well Miss Merrion seemed; she did not make 
allowance for the stimulus of this new excitement. 
On that day, Mabel Thorpe seemed stronger, and, 
on her asking whether any news had been heard 
from Mrs. Merrion, was told that Miss Merrion had 
come. She was at first distressed, murmuring that 
Miss Merrion would take the fever, but after a while 
seemed relieved, and asked to see her. 

Her inquiries were all for the children, and she 
passed lightly over her illness, only saying miserably 
that it was very unfortunate that she should be use- 
less at such a time, but that she meant soon to be 
well again. She asked if her mother knew of her ill- 
ness and begged earnestly that nothing might be said 
to alarm her, as the journey was so long and so ex- 
pensive. 

“I shall be much easier about Guy and Wilf now 
that you are here,” she said. “But mind you do 
not overdo it. I don’t think you look at all well.” 

“ Oh — I am well ! Don’t fear for me,” Hope 
answered, brightly. 

The next day Mabel Thorpe was worse ; on the 
morning of the next the doctor telegraphed for her 
mother. 


THE IDES OF MATCH 


295 

Hope sat with her the afternoon of this day, while 
Nurse White got some sleep. The girl was delirious, 
though not violently so. She knew no one, but was 
quiet for the most part ; when she spoke, it was to 
address Arthur Strange, whom she imagined to be 
present, or to say a prayer. 

A nature so high and so strong was revealed, both 
in her prayers and in what she said to the man she 
loved, that the listening Hope hung her head in deep 
humiliation. When she thought of this girl’s life of 
self-sacrifice, of the purity and nobleness of her 
attachment, her own life seemed so gay and trivial, 
her brief engagement such a mockery of what love 
really is. The silent tears rolled down her cheeks at 
the faint accents of the brave voice, repeating the 
words with which no doubt she had often, both by 
letter and by voice, cheered the drooping hopes of 
her betrothed. 

“They also serve, who only stand and wait,” she 
said, over and over again. “It is the waiting which 
is the hard part, isn’t it, dearest ? And it has been a 
long time .... It is hard to see each other so sel- 
dom but we are young and strong, and 

think how much happier we are than if we had never 
known each other ; ” and then sharply, with an inde- 
scribable pang in her voice, “Oh, Arthur, I can’t 
bear to see you cry ! ” 

Hope, hiding her face, felt as if she ought not to 
enter into this Holy of Holies. Her heart was torn 
for thinking of the many, many English girls whose 
lives resembled that of Mabel. This hopeless 
poverty, this iron fate which made a strong man 
weep, how bitterly sad a thing it was. 

Hope felt as if she loathed herself, as if her own 
luxurious existence and easily gratified desires were 
an insult to the girl by whose bedside she sat. 

What if Mabel should die — should perish at her post 
for the sake of these children, and leave her Arthur 
desolate ? 

“She would be more sincerely mourned than I 


THE IDES OF MARCH. 


296 

should,” bitterly thought Hope. “ Of what use am I 
in this world ? and the only good man I know despises 
me. It would be better for me to die, and for her to 
live, and then Mollie could help Arthur Strange, and 
they would marry, and ah ! how happy they would 
be ! But what use is it to think of such a thing ? 
The fever would not accept me as a substitute. If it 
would, I feel as if I should be glad to die— to give 
my useless life for her precious one ! ” 


CHAPTER XXXIV. 

THE MAJOR' S MOTIVE. 

I swear I do not love him. Did I, once ? 

Did I indeed 

Love once : or did I only worship ? Yes, 

Perhaps, O friend, I set you up so high 
I haply set you above love itself, 

And out of reach of these poor woman's arms. 

E. B. Browning. 

After all, sunshine did smile on the monster meeting 
of the Women’s Sanitary League. A cold, autumnal 
sunshine, frosty in its character, and accompanied by 
a somewhat boisterous breeze, but still sunshine, 
which animated the scene, and danced on the tossing 
flags which surmounted the tents. 

The whole of Norchester was there. Not one of 
the minster clergy was absent, from the bishop him- 
self, roguish and genial, dishevelled as to his hair, 
and secular as to his attire, to the most minor of the 
minor canons, a young man fresh from Cambridge, 
with a rooted belief that music in church and plenty 
of it, was the foundation of the Catholic religion, and 
that his own tenor voice was the finest in England. 

There were the county people, exceedingly dowdy 


THE IDES OF MATCH. 


297 

for the most part, but fairly intelligent, and approv- 
ing the entertainment as a whole, except when they 
found some new, money-made family seated in a 
more convenient or prominent position than them- 
selves at one of the lectures. There was the army of 
ladies of whom Mrs. Hancock was more or less typical, 
who, never having attended such a meeting before, 
were all sure it must be wrong, but were present in 
order to be shocked at the depravity of the gener- 
ation ; there were the personal friends of the Saxons, 
differing widely as to type, some being fashionable, 
some scientific, many given over wholly and utterly 
to fads. Several stars of the Royal Institution were 
among them, discussing technical matters concerning 
household sanitation, and reason, as, applied to dress, 
in a manner which seemed utterly shameless to the 
Hancock faction, who would have liked to put a shawl 
over the beautiful copy of the Milo Venus which Mrs. 
Saxon had arranged in a bower of roses just before 
the platform. 

The bishop opened the proceedings in the gayest 
possible manner, putting every one in a good humour 
to start with, and going On to enforce his point with 
several choice and carefully selected anecdotes which 
so charmed the people that, by the time his melod- 
ious voice ceased, most of the audience were feeling 
that Norchester was painfully behind the age, and 
that it was high time that such a movement was set 
on foot, before the other towns of England discovered 
its deficiencies : for the bishop seemed to think that, 
if only his diocese would condescend to try, it could 
easily distance any other diocese in the matter of 
health, or of anything else ; so of course an effort was 
worth while, if only to show other people how to do 
the thing properly. 

Dr. Compton, of the London Health League, fol- 
lowed the bishop, with a fierce torrent of Irish rhet- 
oric. He frightened his hearers out of their wits by 
the awful vividness of his details. Vaguely they all 
wondered how anybody ever managed to be born, 


THE IDES OF MARCH 


298 

much less to arrive at maturity, during the preceding 
centuries, in face of the ghastly tissue of horrors now 
brought to their notice. Ignorant nurses, ignorant 
doctors, foetid air, and malarial water, poisonous food, 
murderous clothing, and a mode of living which ren- 
dered life impossible, seemed to have surrounded 
these unhappy generations from their birth. Would 
those listening to the speaker allow their children to 
suffer so ? Would they not at once insist on their 
discarding their under-linen, wearing boots too large 
for them, abjuring pastry, subscribing to the League, 
and taking other methods to ensure their physical 
salvation, whence, as a matter of course, must result 
their spiritual salvation also ? 

Just as the nervous audience were fancying that 
the Black Death must be hovering over Norchester, 
and that noxious exhalations were rising from the 
very ground beneath them, the orator, having made 
his point, abruptly ceased, and the chairman an- 
nounced that an hour would elapse before the next 
speaker began, which time their host and hostess 
hoped they would spend in partaking of refreshments 
and inspecting the exhibits. 

Accordingly, a general move was made, and, after 
a little crushing, people found themselves once more 
in the open air, where a perfect Babel of voices broke 
out ; conspicuous among which were the accents of 
a wild-looking German doctor, who had come to 
England with the special object of preaching his new 
health gospel, namely, the terrible danger of feeding 
babies on milk. Water, he had discovered, was their 
only natural diet. As he could not speak a word of 
English a great deal of his eloquence was lost. He 
ran from group to group, piteously asking if nobody 
spoke Deutsch. 

“I feel convinced that I am all over germs,” 
whispered Disney to Leo Forde, as they emerged to- 
gether into the sunshine. “ My flesh positively 
creeps, and I dare not breathe for fear of imbibing 
poison. Shall we venture on a cup of tea ? Have 


THE IDES OF MATCH. 


299 

you courage ? I think, as it is Mrs. Saxon’s menage , 
we may feel tolerably certain that the water has been 
filtered, the milk tested, the tea poured away from 
the leaves, and the cream not artificially preserved. 
But think it over calmly ! Think what risks we run 
every time we drink a cup of tea ! I am sure it is a 
wonder that any of us are alive to tell the tale.” 

“ I don’t like it ; it makes me feel rather sick,” said 
Leo, languidly. “It is all very well for sanitary in- 
spectors to understand this kind of thing, but I don’t 
see why we should have it crammed down our 
throats.” 

“A feature of the age,” replied Disney, easily. 
“Everybody ought to know everything, that’s the 
theory. I can’t undertake to say whether it is right 
or wrong. Let us go and forget our cares in the 
refreshment-room ; fortunately Mrs. Saxon’s ideas of 
hygiene don’t seem to have got so far as zoe- 
done ! ” 

“Wait a moment, please,” said the girl, pausing, 
with a sudden change sweeping over her face. ‘ ‘ I 
see Evelyn, he is looking for me.” 

“What ! ” said Disney, “has the poor fellow actu- 
ally got leave of absence from the sick-room to come 
and mingle with the festive throng for five minutes ? 
Jove, what a martyrdom that man’s life is. I wonder 
why he submits to it ? ” 

“I think he likes it,” said Evelyn’s betrothed, with 
a touch of bitterness which did not escape her hearer; 

‘ ‘ he cares more for his father than for any one else, I 
believe.” 

As she spoke, Westmorland, who had been looking 
round in a wistful way, caught sight of her, and 
began threading his way through the crowd towards 
her. 

Disney fell back a step or two, curiously scanning 
the faces of both. 

Leone was looking splendid. She was well-dressed, 
for this was her first appearance in public as the 
promised wife of the heir of Feverell Chase. Scarcely 


THE IDES OF MARCH 


300 

a soul in the great marquee but had been watching 
her as she sat between her brother and her brother’s 
friend ; scarcely a soul but had remarked that her 
lover was not present. 

Most people knew of Mr. Westmorland’s paralytic 
stroke ; it was generally attributed to the mortifica- 
tion and rage consequent upon his son’s unsuitable 
engagement. Mrs. Saxon might have felt consider- 
ably cast down, had she known to what an extent 
interest in Leo divided the honours of the day with 
the interest in domestic sanitation. 

A large crowd certainly gathered round Miss Din- 
widdie as she personally conducted a tour of inspec- 
tion round the impromptu hospital, but a very con- 
siderable number hung about on the lawn, and 
watched the meeting of the Major and Miss Forde 
with greedy eyes. He looked very ill in the gay 
sunshine, though he smiled as he drew near the 
motionless girl. 

“I am so sorry I missed you,” he said, as he 
raised his hat and touched her hand. “I waited 
about the door of the lecture marquee to catch you as 
you went in ; but I blundered, I suppose.” 

“I wish you had caught me,” she said, with an 
effort after her old liveliness, “you would have 
spared me a most terrible quarter-of-an-hour. I have 
learned that my days are numbered unless I at once 
begin to wear clothes of a totally different cut and 
material. I have been slowly committing suicide 
ever since I was a baby without knowing it. Are 
you not horrified ? ” 

“Worse than that,” chimed in Disney, “she has 
been poisoning herself in small doses by the use — 
the habitual use, as I understand — of that diabolical 
article, a tea-cosy.” 

“Most serious,” replied Evelyn, with a ghost of 
the smile with which he had been wont to reward 
Leo’s nonsense, “but can you spare me a few min- 
utes now? My father would like— would be so 
pleased — will you come with me and see him ? ” 


THE IDES OF MARCH. 


301 

“Oh . . . certainly. Of course,” she answered, 
in a voice audibly deficient in heartiness. “Captain 
Disney, you must drink zoedone without me.” 

“ I shall be able to tell you what it tastes like,” he 
replied, moving off with a parting salutation and a 
laugh which ended in a sigh. 

In the refreshment-tent he came upon Richard, who 
was making himself a most efficient aide-de-camp to 
Mrs. Saxon in the way of handing about fruit, ices, 
cakes, sandwiches, champagne, etc. Into this task 
Edgar threw himself with vigour, and made himself, 
as usual, most popular with the ladies, unblushingly 
claiming acquaintance with Mrs. Hancock, and re- 
filling her glass so assiduously that she felt it more 
and more of an effort to continue to maintain her 
hostile attitude against him. 

But when at last the edge of the Norchester ap- 
petite seemed to be growing blunted, he went up to 
Richard, and, lightly flicking crumbs from his fash- 
ionably cased legs with his handkerchief, he said, 
in a low voice, 

“Dick — what on earth is wrong with Westmor- 
land?” 

Forde started, raising his eyes apprehensively to 
his friend ; then, turning to the buffet, he took a 
sandwich, slowly consuming a mouthful before he 
asked, 

“What do you mean ? ” 

“I mean,” returned Edgar, selecting a peach, 
“ that something is jolly wrong with him. If I didn’t 
know the man too well, I would say he had a crime 
on his conscience.” 

“He has seemed to me out of spirits,” said Dick, 
very reluctantly. 

It is always disagreeable to have one’s own mis- 
givings put into words by somebody else. 

“ Out of spirits ! He is simply not fit to speak to ! 
Now he always was of the quiet sort, but as sociable 
and pleasant a fellow as you would wish to meet. 
Just now, by all precedent, he ought to be in topping 


THE IDES OF MARCH. 


302 

spirits, engaged to as lovely a girl as there is in the 
county.’' 

“You think so too? I have thought — it has 
dawned upon me lately that she is pretty, ” said Dick, 
thoughtfully. 

“In two years she will be a beauty,” asserted Dis- 
ney, with conviction. 

“As you say, it is strange. To tell you the honest 
truth, it has bothered me the last few days. While 
his father was so bad, he never seemed to think of 
her-— scarcely sent her a message ; then — this sounds 
trivial, but girls think of these things — he has given 
her nothing, not even a ring. ” 

“ I imagine the father is at the bottom or it : can- 
tankerous, eh?” 

“He is always cantankerous.” 

“Ah, yes ! Doesn’t approve! As he leads West- 
morland by the nose, I think that is really enough to 
give the origin of his gloom. ” 

“You are utterly mistaken. Mr. Westmorland is 
most delighted with the match — frantically, dispro- 
portionately so ! No, the motive is deeper than that. 
Once or twice I have feared that I knew it ” 

“ Feared ?” 

Richard set down his glass, glanced around the 
fast-emptying tent, then at his companion, and drew 
out his pocket-book. 

“It’s not very long ago since Westmorland con- 
sulted me about a curious matter,” he said. “I 
wonder if I dare tell you ? ” 

“Of course,” said Disney, self-denyingly, “I don’t 
want to hear anything that’s a breach of confidence.” 

“ I was not asked to keep it dark,” returned Forde ; 
“and, to tell you the truth, I should be glad to have 
somebody’s opinion on the subject.” He drew from 
his pocket-book a folded paper. “ Read this, and I 
will explain to you what it is supposed to mean,” he 
said. “It is, as far as can be discovered, an authen- 
tic utterance, dating back indisputably to the four- 
teenth century, and very likely older still,” 


303 


THE IDES OF MARCH. 

Disney took it, and read it through. 

“I should say that to call that nonsense was 
putting the case too mildly,” he said, gravely. “ It 
seems to me confusion worse confounded.” 

Dick explained the situation, and gave the inter- 
pretation, according to Mr. Westmorland. 

“I see,” at last said the captain, slowly. “The 
old man believes, on the authority of this piece of 
rubbish that his race will become extinct unless Eve- 
lyn marries before next first of March ! Well, why 
shouldn’t it become extinct ? Old races usually do ; 
it’s a way they have : and I suppose Miss Dinwiddie 
and her physiological ladies could tell us why. H’m ! 
Then I suppose you think that pressure was put upon 
the Major to induce him to hurry into an engage- 
ment before he really knew what he was about? 
But my good sir, the man who was not in love with 
your sister would be a very clod ! Surely that can- 
not be the whole reason of this settled gloom ? ” 

A red spot was burning in Dick’s cheeks, and his 
eyes were bright with excitement. 

“It’s what I don't like to think of Westmorland,” 
he said, angrily, but it looks to me like it. He is a 
man of exaggerated conscientiousness : the feeling 
of having practised more or less of a deception would 
be quite enough to put him into this remarkable state 
of mind. But he had better be careful. My sister 
has a brother ; as he would soon find out, if he tried 
any nonsense. I won’t have her humiliated before 
the whole of Norchester. ” 

Disney looked attentively at him, and seemed to 
reflect. 

“You would not let her marry a man who did not 
care for her? You would not throw her away? ” he 
said at last. 

‘ ‘ Ah, but — but — suppose she cares for him ? ” blurted 
out poor Dick. 

“Oh, I see,” replied the Captain, with due gravity ; 
but as he spoke he glanced in a large mirror near, 
and passed his hand over hfs fine moustache to hide 


THE IDES OF MARCH. 


304 

a suspicious curving- of the lips ; and some inward 
feeling caused his pulses to beat, and his blood to 
warm. The idea of Miss Forde’s woes, it would 
appear, did not afflict him very profoundly. 

The mirror showed him more than the reflection pf 
his own goodly self ; it painted the door of the tent, 
through which Major Westmorland and his betrothed 
were slowly entering. The grave eyes of the girl lit 
up as she saw that her brother and the Captain were 
the only two present. 

Dick turned quickly towards his sister, forgetting 
the sheet of paper which his companion held in his 
hand. Disney, quietly folding it up, placed it care- 
fully in his own pocket. 

“The world is in the marquee,” announced Leo, 
“listening to an ambulance lecture. I would not go 
in, it is so hot, and they talk of things which take 
away my appetite. A man with a note-book and a 
pencil came up and asked me what my dress was 
made of; I think everybody is a little cracked this 
afternoon. ” 

The voice sounded mocking, and a little weary : 
unlike Leo. She sank down into a basket-chair, and 
smiled her thanks to Disney for the cup of creamy, 
fragrant coffee which he procured at once, before 
Evelyn had realised what she wanted. 

“Anything hot is nice, this treacherous day,” said 
she, complainingly. “I do dislike this cold, bleak 
sunshine, trying to pretend it is really summer ! All 
the women who have come in thin dresses have red 
noses ! Ridiculous ! ” 

“This thing is, nevertheless, suggestive of the dog- 
days,” said Disney, sitting down beside her and tak- 
ing up a parasol of some diaphanous canary-coloured 
stuff. 

“Just so ! A fly-away parasol for effect, a warm 
dress for comfort !” 

“Most sensible! And typical of the wearer, I 
humbly suggest. Plenty of sparkle outwardly, plenty 
of sense inwardly.” 


THE IDES OF MARCH. 


305 


“You have seen Mr. Westmorland, Leo, so Evelyn 
tells me," interrupted Richard. 

“Yes,” she replied, looking up at him, “he is very 


“He is much better,” hurriedly interposed the 
Major, “and it was a great pleasure to him to see 
you.” 

“ He was very kind to me,” she said. “I hope he 
will be better soon. ” 

A shadow seemed to fall alike on face and voice 
when she spoke of her future marriage, or anything 
concerning it. 

“ It must be a relief to you to see him mending so 
fast ; it is a far more rapid convalescence than I had 
ventured to hope for,” said Dick to Evelyn. “ I hope 
that, now the anxiety is over, you will be more free ; 
come and dine with us to-morrow.” 

“ Ay, do : we see nothing of you,” echoed Disney. 

“You’re very good, but I must take my father to 
Feverell Chase to-morrow ; the Saxons go to Scotland, 
you know.” 

“So they do, I had forgotten,” said Dick, with a 
slight shrug. 

“ My father is very anxious that Miss — ah ! — that 
Leo should come and stay with us,” went on the 
Major. “ He will write to-morrow, to Lady Royd, 
my mother’s aunt, and ask her to bring some of her 
daughters to make the place more lively. He — 
wants to see you, if you could spare a moment ; he 
is so anxious for the wedding to be as soon as pos- 
sible.” 

Dick looked anything but complaisant. 

“ I’ll not have Leo hurried — mark that ! ” he said. 
“It shall take place when it pleases her, and not 
before — not a moment before. If she wants a year’s 
grace, she shall have it.” 

“A year ! ” echoed Evelyn, in a way that aroused 
all Forde’s doubts into active antagonism. 

“Yes, a year. There is plenty of time.” 

“You know how anxious he is to see me married 
20 


THE IDES OF MARCH. 


306 

before he— goes,” slowly urged the Major, in a low 
voice. 

These two were speaking apart. Disney was busily 
opening peach-stones for Leo, and extracting the 
kernels. Dick answered, steadily, 

“ She must take her own time. She is very young. 
I will not take upon myself the responsibility of 
urging her.” 

Evelyn looked at Leo. At the moment, her soft, 
pretty laugh rang out as it had been wont to do 
before she was over-awed by her severe wooer. 
What a picture it was of healthful, gleeful girlhood, 
and handsome, conquering manhood ! What a head 
Disney had ! And how his fair locks showed up 
Leo’s dark ones ! 

As he gazed, there swept over him anew a feeling 
of helplessness. What was he to do with this bright, 
freakish creature? Could he make her happy? He 
did not understand her as Disney appeared to do. 
Could he speak to her, or let Dick speak to her, of 
immediate marriage and residence with him and his 
paralytic father at Feverell. As Muriel had said before, 
it seemed incongruous. 


CHAPTER XXXV. 

ON SUCH A NIGHT AS THIS — SO FULL OF STARS ! 

That was I you heard last night, 

When there rose no moon at all. 

Can’t one even die in peace? 

When one shuts one’s eyes on youth, 

Is that face the last one sees ? 

Serenade at the Villa. 

The second lecture was over, and swarms of people 
again poured into the refreshment-tent. Mrs. Short- 
house, finding herself near Leo, offered tepid congrat- 


THE IDES OF MARCH. 


307 


ulations. Several other ladies, so encouraged, fol- 
lowed suit ; but there seemed little heartiness in their 
expressions of goodwill. The fact added to the girls 
own secret, restless depression. She had been on the 
whole very popular in Norchester — the dull, heavy 
town had secretly felicitated itself on the possession 
of such a treasure. Her beauty and her spirits had 
been admired and wondered at, with a rather surpris- 
ing tolerance; her position, as the young doctors 
sistef, had not been exalted enough to make people 
feel that they could not patronize her. They had 
made a point of encouraging “that pretty little Miss 
Forde. Unsophisticated — very ! But then you see 
she is so young, and, with a few hints from me, she 
will soon be all that one could desire ; and, besides, 
she must be very lonely, brought up as she was in a 
large family.” 

Such had been the kindly feeling which had filled 
the breasts of the neighbouring matrons when Leo 
appeared on the scenes. Even Mrs. Hancock, as has 
been hinted, would not have objected to her as a 
daughter-in-law, to be paraded in public, crushed and 
dictated to in private. But now it seemed to these 
worthy people as though the young girl had stolen a 
march upon them all. She had used them and their 
kindness as stepping-stones to advance herself. Now 
she had wormed herself into the Hesselburgh cbterie, 
she no longer needed the tennis at the Residence 
which had formerly been so acceptable. 

She had soared too high. She had secured a posi- 
tion which would have been considered a marvellous 
piece of good fortune, even for one of the bishop’s 
numerous daughters ; in a few months she would be 
sweeping into all the best dining-rooms in the district, 
taking precedence of all her late patronesses, doubt- 
less presented at court ! 

It was too much. 

Leo partly understood, half regretted the change. 
She wanted to be encouraged about her forthcoming 
marriage, to be reassured, as it were, by the envy 


THE IDES OF MATCH. 


308 

and admiration of all around her. Every one looked 
grave Over it, as it seemed to her ; even Mrs. Saxon, 
who had said, in her downright way, 

“ I hope it may bring you happiness, my dear, but 
you are very young to be making a life-long choice/’ 

Nobody seemed pleased, except old Mr. Westmor- 
land, and his joy terrified her. 

No one could tell how she had been obliged to 
nerve herself for that first interview to-day. Dick had 
warned her to expect to find him much changed, but 
none the less had she recoiled with inward repulsion, 
from the sight of the poor distorted mouth and drawn- 
down head and shoulder. To kiss him, as he ardently 
entreated, seemed the climax of all possible endur- 
ance ; and, as she sat, trying to grasp the purport of 
the compliments he uttered in his now imperfect and 
impeded articulation, she said to herself that she 
could never make up her mind to live in the same 
house with one so distressingly afflicted. It seemed 
as if the Major’s love-making were to be done by 
proxy. The old man had a ring for her— a magnifi- 
cent Marquise ring — the family sapphire, circled in 
diamonds ; he held her slim hand, smiling to see the 
stones dart fire upon it, he stammered forth how 
much he envied Evelyn, how he wished he were 
young again, and wondered how his son had ever 
had the face to ask her to accord him so great, so un- 
expected a grace. She would come down to Feverell, 
would she not, to see her future home, and to glad- 
den the hearts ofi the two lonely men who would 
count the minutes until she came ? So he had drivelled 
on, in husky, halting accents, until her appealing 
glances had brought Evelyn to the rescue and he had 
led her away. 

The old man readily let them go, nodding his head 
with a would-be smile on the poor down-drawn 
mouth, as he said he, knew that, under certain cir- 
cumstances, two was company and three none. 

The two had walked in silence down the long, 
deserted corridor, through the open windows of 


THE IDES OP MARCH. 


309 

which floated in dim echoes of applause from the 
marquee. Half-way along, Evelyn asked her ab- 
ruptly, 

“He is worse than you thought ? ” 

“Yes, he is,” answered Leo thoughtfully, adding, 
with a desire to soften this harsh statement, “I dare- 
say he will be better soon.” 

“But, if you had seen him three days ago, you 
would think him greatly improved now,” said Eve- 
lyn, with a sigh. 

“ Was he so bad ? You must have been very anx- 
ious.” 

“I was ; but as soon as his mind cleared I knew he 
would get well. It made him so unspeakably happy, 
that he was quite amiable.” 

* ‘ What made him happy ? What is ‘ it ' ? ” 

What ? why, you to be sure. You are curing 
him,” he said fervently. 

“I?” 

“ Yes ; he is delighted that you — that I — that you 
have promised — — ” 

“I see,” was her hasty answer. 

“ He is so fond of you, I am sure you will grow to 
love him, ” he went on, in his folly, never seeing how 
utterly meaningless all this talk was to the girl beside 
him. 

She looked at him meditatively ; her glance was 
critical and cold, very unlike the passionate girlish 
worship of so few days back. She was being very 
rapidly disillusioned, and Edgar Disney was helping 
more in the process than he knew. 

It had been pleasant to be out of doors again, and 
in his cheery society. He could always make her 
laugh. Now, when the people flocked out from the 
marquee and surrounded them, he came to the rescue 
at once. 

“ Let us go and do the rounds in due form,” he said, 
“there are some things displayed here in sober ear- 
nest which would make a cat laugh. Woollen towels, 
for one thing : everything must be natural wool now- 


THE IDES OF MARCH. 


310 

adays, you know, and of course woollen towels are 
of no earthly use to dry one's skin withal, so the 
hygienic faction are fain to announce that it is health- 
ier to remain wet. And this is in England, at the 
close of this century ! What a nation of faddists we 
are becoming ! " 

“Well," said Dick, good-humouredly, “one must, 
for the credit of one's reputation, say that everybody 
always did everything wrong until we came to set it 
right. It keeps people so happy and busy to turn the 
existing state of things upside down ; and then there 
is employment for the next generation, to put it all 
back again. I think old Herr Kinderspeisen is the 
worst of them all, though. He button-holed me just 
now with a paper of statistics. Not feed babies on 
milk ! Pretty good isn't it ? " 

“ And so we go on," moralised Edgar, “and I sup- 
pose, after all, we are not much worse than we used 
to be ; whenever I am tempted to think that we are 
the climax of folly, I remember that my ancestors, 
after a dinner-party, used to have straw littered down 
around the dining-table and make a night of it. " 

“And you think they would not have been worse 
employed even in trying to rub themselves dry on a 
health towel ? " laughed Tom Saxon, who had caught 
the remark in passing. 

“ No, I really think not ; and it is saying a good 
deal,” cried Disney, brightly. 

‘ ‘ Ah, you wait till you've tried, that’s all ! " was 
Tom’s oracular reply. 

There were glances of disapproval from all who 
were within earshot ; the ladies, lately so hostile to 
science, had been profoundly impressed by the 
speakers of the day, and to treat so important a sub- 
ject with levity was most unfitting, they thought. Dis- 
ney, with characteristic, gay impertinence, attacked 
Mrs. Saxon herself, who was standing near, hearty 
and radiant. 

“Now, Mrs. Saxon, I appeal to you, as a lady of 
judgment, who is doubtless clothed from head to foot 


THE IDES OF MARCH 


3 11 

in natural wool, I appeal to you for a candid answer : 
would you, could you, bring yourself to use a natural 
wool towel? ” 

‘ ‘ Certainly not, odious things ! ” was the prompt 
reply. “Has your experience not yet taught you 
that a sensible idea is sure to be carried to extremes 
by foolish people? It is inevitable. Why distress 
yourself about the woollen towels ? Nobody will use 
them, and, they will die a natural death ; they are not 
worth making a fuss about.” 

“ Natural wool should surely be undyed to die a 
natural death,” slyly whispered Disney to Leo, as the 
hostess hurried off ; but, low as was the whisper, Tom 
caught it and groaned. 

‘ ‘ Where are your usual powers, Captain Disney ? ” 

“Natural wool-gathering, ” laughed Edgar, as he 
left the tent with the Fordes and Major Westmorland. 

The day was a huge success, altogether. The whole 
town laid down its arms, and surrendered uncondi- 
tionally to the ambassadors of sanitation. When, at 
the close of the proceedings, the bishop announced 
the inauguration of the Norchester branch, and in- 
vited any intending members to come forward, the 
summons was responded to by the enrolment of a 
couple of hundred names. 

The Fordes and Captain Disney remained to suppei 
amongst the Saxons’ own friends, and as the evening 
went on, Leo began to feel her spirits rise. Evelyn 
thawed more than he had ever done before : he sat 
next her, and talked a good deal, for him, his theme 
being malarial fever of which he had seen a good deal 
in India, and concerning which he differed in opinion 
from the doctor who had lectured that afternoon. It 
was a subject which lent itself to anecdote, and he 
told her tales of his camp life which interested and 
thrilled her, and made her feel proud of him. 

After supper, he took her into the library, which 
was deserted, and told her how sorry he was to be 
leaving her to-morrow, and how much he hoped she 
would very soon come to Feverell. 


THE IDES OF MARCH. 


312 

“I want to know you better,” he said, humbly. 
“We seem such strangers, do we not?” 

“Iam so shy of you,” replied she, with beautiful 
blushes. 

“And I of you,” he confessed, “strange as it, may 
sound.” 

The idea made them both smile; and she looked 
so pretty, and was so close to him, that he kissed 
her ; and, as she did not resent this, possessed him- 
self of her hand, and asked her if she liked her ring. 

“It was such a pleasure to him to give it you,” he 
said; “but by rights it was my privilege, was it 
not ? ” 

“I saw Mrs. Shorthouse admiring it all supper- 
time,” laughed Leo. “She will describe it to Mrs. 
Hancock. Did you know that you and I were the 
centre of attraction this evening ? ” 

“ No ! ” he returned, in some consternation, mak- 
ing her laugh again, quite merrily : but, at this mo- 
ment, Richard’s voice was heard calling her. 

“ I must go,” she said, “ but I will come up to the 
station, as you suggest, to-morrow, to say ' good- 
bye ’ to your father. I daresay Captain Disney will 
bring me, if Dick is away. He is so nice, isn’t he? ” 

“Who? Disney?” 

“Yes. You and he are great friends, are you not? " 

“ He has altered a great deal since I knew him,” 
replied Evelyn, sternly ; “ or I have. ” 

Leo looked at him questioningly, but there was no 
time for more, as footsteps were drawing near ; so, 
with a hurried farewell, she made her escape from the 
room, and he followed her into the hall. 

Richard was buttoning his coat, and bidding Mrs. 
Saxon farewell. 

“You may indeed congratulate yourself— it has 
been more than a success, it has been a New Depart- 
ure, ” he said, cordially. * ‘ I believe the whole tone 
of local thought will be changed from this day for- 
ward. You are a pioneer, Mrs. Saxon,” 

The good lady was radiant, 


THE IDES OF MARCH. 313 

“I don’t know what I should have done without 
you, doctor, " said she, shaking hands heartily. ‘ ‘ You 
have been invaluable, pray accept my thanks. Dr. 
Compton mentioned you to me in the most compli- 
mentary terms. I heard him telling Mrs. Shorthouse 
that he thought the district most fortunate in the pos- 
session of such a thoroughly scientific young fellow. ” 

“ I am several inches taller. But allow me to say 
that I value your commendations a great deal more 
than even Dr. Compton’s,” replied Richard, with his 
eyes on Muriel’s golden hair. 

“Good-night,” he said to her, in a low voice, a 
minute later. “You look tired.” 

“Yes, I am tired,” replied she, a little weariness 
apparent in her calm tones. ‘ * These things are rather 
exhausting ; I wish Hope had been here, she would 
have been such a help.” 

Tom, who was standing near, took up the word. 

“Ah, true for you, old lady,” he said, mournfully. 
“We wanted Hope. If Hope had been here, the 
whole affair would have tasted different, somehow ! 
Doesn't a fellow miss her, just?” 

Evelyn was advancing down the hall with Leo, and 
he heard these words. They tore open his wound so 
desperately, he felt as if he would bleed to death. 

It was a fearfully sharp pang— a refinement of 
agony. How should he go on ? How could he do 
without her ? 

Just for those few minutes in the library his fate had 
seemed almost bearable. What a delusion did Tom’s 
light words show such a thought to be ! 

He felt as if his misery must choke him. Dazed, he 
followed Leo’s graceful figure down the hall ; mechan- 
ically he helped her up to her seat beside Disney in 
the car. 

Richard sprang up behind, beside Joe. 

“Miss Forde tells me I shall see you again,” cried 
Edgar, gaily. “ My mission to-mori*ow, it seems, is 
to drive a disconsolate fair lady to the parting tryst 
with her true love. How many pocket-handkerchiefs 


THE IDES OF MARCH. 


3H 

ought I to take with me to lend to my friends in case 
of an emergency ? Poor old chap ! ” to Evelyn. ‘ ‘ No 
wonder you look down in the mouth. What would 
you give me to drive the mare home — eh ! Jove ! 
what a night/' he added, more solemnly, gazing up 
into the pearl-strewn heavens. “I hope you have 
wraps enough, Miss Leone, — those stars look like 
frost ? ” 

“I am as warm as a toast, thank you ! Dick, it 
was clever of you to make me bring my furs ! How 
glorious the sky is ! I think I never saw the stars 
so bright ! Look, Evelyn, at the milky way. Is it 
not lovely ? ” 

Evelyn turned his tragic face up to those mute, 
spacious heavens, and in his sore heart was the long- 
ing, which Hope had felt so often, to be away beyond 
the stars, where the weary find rest. 

“ You look like Hamlet, in the churchyard scene," 
laughed Edgar; “how becoming the starlight is, old 
man ! ” 

And then the mare found she had had enough of it, 
and dashed off down the avenue. 

“Good-bye, Evelyn ! ” rang out Leo’s clear voice. 
He wished, for her sake, that he might never hear it 
again. 

To go indoors was impossible ; he wandered away, 
blind with pain, into the dark garden, in and out, 
stumbling in the dim light now and then over a tent 
rope. 

Still the vast glittering sky overarched him. 
Wherever she was— his darling — at that moment, the 
same glory of stars bowed over her. If so she willed, 
she might lift her sweet eyes to the same point of 
brilliancy on which his were fixed : it seemed to 
create a point of meeting. Wherever she was, he 
prayed God that she was well and happy. 

At that very moment Hope was coming out of the 
room in which Guy was convalescent ; he was asleep, 
after a day of fidgeting which had sorely tried her pa- 
tience, Now that he was growing stronger, neither 


THE IDES OF MARCH. 


315 

his tongue nor his limbs were ever still. Wilf was 
admitted into the same room with him, and the two 
together were, as Nurse White remarked, “enough 
to bewilder a saint/’ 

Wilf was a credulous little boy, far less imaginative 
than Guy, but of tenacious memory, and given to 
repeating everything he heard. For instance — 

“Do you know, Aunt Hope, one of the boys at 
our school saw a cat swallow a rat — whole ! He saw 
the cat do it, and Guy says he doesn’t believe it’s 
true ! ” 

“Do you know, Aunt Hope,” Guy would retort, 
mocking, “ that a man papa knows once saw a ’bus 
horse swallow a conductor ? He bolted him, you 
know. It was done in a minute.” 

“Oh, Guy !” from Wilf, in horrified accents, “is 
that true ? ” 

“Yes, just about as true as your precious cat and 
rat story.” 

“Oh, Guy, you are unkind! Isn’t he awfully 
unkind, Aunt Hope ? ” 

“Don’t tease him, Guy dear. There ! I have dis- 
entangled the knot from your wool : you can go on 
again. ” 

Guy’s stumpy fingers travelled obediently through 
his knitting for nearly two minutes : when the result 
of Wilf s cogitations were suddenly hurled at his 
audience in the shape of this conundrum. 

“But, Aunt Hope, just supposing a ’bus horse did 
eat up a conductor — just supposing, you know : 
would they try the horse for murder ? ” 

A whole day of this sort of thing had well-nigh 
wearied out Hope’s patience. She had been feeling 
dull and heavy-headed all day, too, though, since 
Mabel Thorpe had been declared out of danger, she 
had felt as happy as it seemed probable she ever 
would feel. 

Now Bowen came softly to relieve guard, and bade 
her young mistress go to bed at once. 

Hope bent for a last look at Guy’s beautiful, 


THE IDES OF MARCH. 


316 

resolute face on the pillow : he was very like the 
young aunt who bent over him. 

“ Miss Merrion, it’s courting infection to hang over 
the child like that/’ remonstrated Bowen. 

“It will be ten days to-morrow since I came,” 
whispered Hope, smiling, “so I ought to sicken now 
if I mean to, ought I not?” 

“ Don’t talk so, miss : you terrify me.” 

Hope went out on tiptoe, a smile on her white face. 
There was no blind to the landing window, and the 
stars showed through it. Raising the sash, she leaned 
out into the night. It was still, cold, and glittering. 
Far off, she could hear the murmur of the sea, in its 
restless monotony, rising and falling on its dark 
shore unceasingly. 

A step on the gravel sidewalk. She withdrew her 
eyes from the stars, and looked down ; in the deep 
shadow she was hidden from view, but the dim 
radiance of the sky was on the face of the gentleman 
who passed, looking up at the house as he did so. 

It was Gilbert Greville. 

“I told you so,” murmured Hope to herself, with 
first a dash of amusement, and then a sigh of pain. 

When he had gone by, she softly closed the win- 
dow, and went to her room ; and, as she drank the 
chocolate which Bowen had placed in readiness for 
her, she realised, with a sudden access of an emotion 
impossible to define, that it had become a matter of 
difficulty to swallow. Her throat was sore. 


THE IDES OF MARCH 


317 


CHAPTER XXXVI. 

THE LAST DAY. 

This is my holiday, 

Julian Sturgis. 

“Let us be merry, and devise sports ! ” , 

“ With all my heart ! What think you of falling in love ? ” 

Shakspeare, 

Captain Disney seemed in no hurry to leave Norches- 
ter : he found the little house in Minstergate exceed- 
ingly comfortable. People perturbed themselves 
considerably about his continued presence there. In 
fact, Miss Press spoke to the doctor about it. 

Miss Lucy Press might fairly be considered to rank 
as the first martyr to science in Norchester. So im- 
pressed had the eldest sister been by the solemn 
warnings of the lecturer, that she immediately had 
the whole system of drainage in her quaint old house 
inspected ; and thereby had proved the truth of the 
adage, “ Let sleeping dogs lie.” The awakened 
smells had given Miss Lucy, the youngest, a touch 
of gastric fever, and Richard was in attendance. He 
laughed very unconcernedly over the timid lady’s 
hint that perhaps Miss Forde and Captain Disney 
were thrown too much in each other’s society. 

“ You see, my sister is engaged to Major Westmor- 
land,” he said. “In two or three days she is going 
off to stay at Feverell Chase. I shall be very glad of 
the Captain’s company when she is gone.” 

“Humph ! ” was Mrs. Hancock’s comment, when 
this was repeated to her. “I don’t fancy, somehow, 
that he’ll stay very long after she’s gone, do you?” 
“Do you fancy he admires her?” fluttered Miss 


THE IDES OF MATCH. 


318 

Press: “dear! how many lovers Leo Forde seems 
to have ” 

‘ ‘ I suppose Mrs. Saxon would be the last person to 
warn young Forde that he was outraging propriety,” 
snapped Mrs. Hancock. ‘ ‘ She is a woman who sets 
all custom at defiance, and no doubt, if she is satis- 
fied, he does not care what other people think ; ” 
which was truer than the speaker knew. 

Leo’s going to Feverell had been postponed owing 
to Lady Royd’s inability to be present : but now a 
day had really been fixed. She was to go on the 9th 
of October, and the 6th had already arrived. 

Her departure being thus definitely arranged, the 
Captain began to realise that he should miss her 
greatly. He wished Westmorland would invite him 
too to Feverell ; he was curious to see what became 
of the engagement. 

Leone puzzled him a great deal. She was not at 
all like a girl whose heart was a hundred miles off. 
In fact, directly her fiance left Hesselburgh, she 
seemed to shake off a certain constraint, and to grow 
more amiable and more charming daily. 

He found himself remembering her words, trying 
to recall her tones — chuckling to himself over some 
of her nonsensical little speeches. He could not 
help suspecting that it was she, and she alone, who 
cast so enchanting a glamour over the young doctor’s 
household. 

The lazy amusement with which he had at first 
watched the engagement between her and Major 
Westmorland had changed, since he read the mystic 
prophecy, into a feeling of a most uncomfortable 
description. The uncouth lines had been studied by 
him so often since they came into his possession, 
that they seemed to repeat themselves over and over 
again in his head : 

“Withouten Hope it shullde betyde, 

The last sonne is an onely childe. 

Sonne ys hee of a yonger sonne, 

Ner wyfe ne childer hath hee non,” 


THE IDES OF MARCH. 


319 


The more he thought of them, the more he felt 
persuaded that Evelyn’s motive for marrying was not 
love. The suspicion made him more wretched than 
he could at all account for. When Leone came sing- 
ing into the room with a handful of flowers from her 
old walled garden, and proceeded with lazy grace to 
dash them, apparently pell-mell, into various bowls 
and jars, where the effect was instant and telling, he 
would lay down his newspaper or Lis novel, and, 
with his cigar slowly expiring between his fingers, 
watch her earnestly with an aroused look in his 
beautiful eyes, and a mind full of dismal speculations. 
He would fancy the song quenched, the elasticity 
gone from the girlish movements : he hated to fancy 
her as Evelyn’s wife. 

“ Miss Leo,” he said, on the morning of the sixth, 
when he had so watched her silently some minutes. 
“ Let us finish gloriously. Shall we ? ” 

“What can you possibly mean?” said she, with 
the light awaking in eyes a moment before clouded 
with dark thoughts. 

“ My visit here has been — is so — Well, I hardly 
know what to say. Pleasant is too mild a word. It 
has been such a delightful experience : so unlike any 
sort of pleasure I ever knew before.” 

He broke off, for Leo had made an involuntary 
movement as of escape. It was only momentary : 
soon she had commanded voice and complexion, and 
said, quietly, 

“lam glad we have succeeded in preventing your 
feeling dull. I was afraid, after the Saxons went, you 
must find this place anything but enlivening.” 

“What a jaded wreck you must have thought me,” 
he laughingly answered. “ No, I am thankful to say 
my powers of enjoyment are not so entirely worn out. 
The suggestion I now have to make is that my visit 
should close suitably, with a grand finale of some 
kind. Did you not say you have never seen Mar- 
vaulx Abbey ? ” 

Her face kindled. 


320 


THE IDES OF MARCH 


“ No, I never saw it.” 

“ I propose that you, Dick, and I should make a 
day of it. It is too much for the mare in one day, so 
I suggest that Joe takes her over to Letley Bridge to- 
morrow, and that, on Wednesday, we take the train 
to Letley, and drive on from there — the whole expe- 
dition to be my affair entirely. You look pleased : 
it is my good fortune to suggest something that gives 
you pleasure ? ” 

“Indeed it does!” she cried, gladly. “What a 
capital idea. I shall enjoy it so much ; the looking 
forward to it will quite prevent my dwelling on my 
visit to ” 

She checked herself, covered with confusion ■; and 
an awkward silence supervened. At last she spoke, 
slowly, and a little proudly. 

“ I should not have confessed,” she said, “ that I 
am shy of my visit to Feverell ; but I am. I have 
never met Lady Royd nor her daughters, and I wi§h 
that Richard were going with me. I am afraid of 
criticism.” 

“ It is most natural, ” gravely replied Edgar, laying 
down his cigar ; “ and yet — forgive me if I say that, 
were I in Westmorland’s place I should be dissatisfied. ” 
He rose determinedly, and came near where she stood, 
“ Were you engaged to me,” he said, in tense tones, 
“ I would demand that you should come gladly to 
the world’s end if I were there. ” 

Leone had plenty of pluck. Beyond the whiteness 
of her face, there was nothing to show that she was 
moved. 

“ But I am not engaged to you,” she replied, 
steadily, “ and it seems futile to talk such nonsense.’’ 

So saying, she took her empty water-can, and 
went out of the room to replenish it. 

He flung himself down on the sofa, with an angry 
word, and perturbed countenance. 

“ I do not believe she cares for him,” he reflected, 
bitterly. “ She is afraid of him, and that is the whole 
of the matter.” 


THE IDES OF MATCH. 


321 

When Dick was consulted, he agreed delightedly 
to the idea of the expedition, and next day, Joe and 
the mare were despatched, to put up at the inn at 
Letley Bridge, and be in readiness at the station the 
following morning. 

The weather, now that October had begun, had 
improved again, as sometimes happens. The sky 
was of faint tender blue, a warm haze covered the 
distances, and the woods were beginning to show 
their gorgeous panoply of scarlet, crimson, and gold, 
when Leo came downstairs on the ninth, ready for 
their early breakfast and start. 

“Oh, how delightful,” she cried, “to think that we 
are not going to waste this perfect day, but to make 
the very most of it ! ” 

“ Eat plenty of breakfast,” Disney urged her, “ you 
will be hungry before you get any dinner. Where’s 
that rascal Richard? He will not have time for a 
mouthful.” 

“I hope no patient has turned up to delay him,” 
cried Leo. “ I heard the surgery bell just now.” 

Edgar cut a plateful of ham, and put it ready in 
Dick’s place. Leo buttered his toast, but when ten 
minutes had elapsed, and he came not, she went out 
to seek him. 

He was not in the surgery at all, and, as she came 
through the hall, she noticed that his hat was gone. 

“ I do really believe that he must have been called 
out,” she announced, in dismay. 

“It is exceedingly awkward if he has,” observed 
Edgar, “ we ought to start the moment the fly comes ; 
if we miss this train, there is not another for two 
hours.” 

After a short period of waiting, somebody knocked 
at the front door, and a note was brought to Leo. 

It was from Richard ; a hurried pencil scrap. 

“ The Deanery. 

“Very sorry; no chance of my getting off; the 
Dean — lungs, I am afraid, but as yet doubtful. Can- 
21 


THE IDES OF MARCH. 


322 


not say when I may be back, or if I could meet you 
anywhere. Am breakfasting here. 


“R. F.” 


‘ ‘ Well ! ” cried Leo, trying to laugh off her vexa- 
tion, “ I seem doomed to disappointment ! ” 

Edgar took the note and read it. 

“ Well, I’m sorry that he’s not available for the 
start,” he said, composedly, “but you must put up 
with me until he comes.” 

“ Oh, we cannot go without him,” dejectedly an- 
swered the girl, sinking down into an arm-chair. 
“ We must give it up.” 

“Give it up ! No such thing ! We can’t do that. 
There is no telegraph to Letley, and Joe won’t know 
what to do. You see, Dick suggests meeting us 
somewhere, he evidently does not contemplate our 
char ' plans. ” 



“ Oh, but I don’t really think ” began LeQ, and 

stopped short, reddening. 

“Ah, I see!” cried Edgar, unscrupulously, “you 
do not trust me ! That is it ! I said something the 
other day, which I had no right to say, and you can- 
not be sure of my not repeating the offence.” 

“Oh, you are very unkind ! ” said Leo, indignantly. 

“It seems hard,” recklessly went on he, “that I 
may not have this one day’s happiness. Westmorland 
will have you all the rest of your life. You need 
scarcely grudge me my farewell pleasure, I think. It 
will soon be over, and you will be with your lover 
to-morrow. Could you not put up with me to- 

A 5 ” 


day ? 


She was mute, not understanding the reason of this 
outburst. At last — 

“You must see,” she slowly said, “that I could 
hardly go — why will you ask it ? You see quite well 
what I mean : you know I want to go. ” 

“Then, in the name of common sense, why not go ? 
I write a line to Richard, telling him where to meet 
us ; I leave a fly at Letley to bring him on ; he will 


THE IDES OF MARCH 


323 

be able to get away, right enough ; he certainly, from 
this note, means us to go. Read it again. ” 

“I wish he would be more explicit/' said Leo, look- 
ing at her brother's scrawl. 

“ He knows I shall understand," said Edgar impet- 
uously. 

As usual, where his own desires were strong, every 
other consideration went to the wall ; he was deter- 
mined to go, and Leone, all of whose wishes pointed 
in the same direction, was quite unable to hold out 
for long. 

The fly, driving up to the door, clinched the matter, 
though why it should do so was scarcely obvious. 
Edgar scribbled directions on a card for Richard, 
which he stuck on the clock ; the same directions 
were also repeated verbally to the housemaid, who 
was left with injunctions to hurry the doctor off the 
moment he came in ; and, in an incredibly short 
space of time, Leo found herself really off, driving 
with Edgar up the town, where it was fortu- 
nately, as yet, too early for the gossip-mongers to 
be about. 

The full beauty of the day became first apparent 
when they were seated in the train. It was so sunny 
and warm, and still and dreamlike, that Leo wondered 
if it were all really true ; that she was awake and in 
her senses — engaged to Evelyn Westmorland, and 
sitting opposite Edgar Disney in a railway-carriage, 
as they rushed through the autumn land. 

The country was uneventful until they reached Letley 
Bridge, where Joe and the cart were duly in waiting. 
The groom was left at the station to procure a car- 
riage, and to bring Richard on when he arrived, and 
the young couple started off together on their twelve 
miles’ drive. 

When they started, Disney was somewhat silent ; 
but, as they advanced into the beautiful scenery 
which surrounds Marvaulx, he turned to his compan- 
ion with a smile. 

“Are you enjoying it ? " 


324 THE ides op march. 

“ It is simply beautiful. I am drinking it in.” 

“ Better than stopping at home — eh ? ” . 

. ‘ ‘ Qh ! ” she cried, impulsively, ‘ ‘ I am glad I 
came 1 * . 

“So am I,” he said, in a low tone, “glad you 
came. I want to enjoy this one day, without 
thinking of to-morrow. ” 

He saw her gay face cloud instantly, and his heart 
began to beat excitedly. The girl's beauty had made 
a profound impression upon him : he could not bear 
to see that look. Something was wrong — something 
must be desperately wrong between her and West- 
morland. If he could but find out what it was ! He 
wondered at himself, as he drove on, to think how 
entirely Leone had chased Hope Merrion's image 
from his mind. In his heart of hearts, he felt nearer 
to Leo than he had ever done to Hope. His engage- 
ment had been, after all, an effort. 

When Hope first appeared in Colombo, her triumph 
had been universal. She was raved over : every man 
that Disney knew was in love with her : he himself 
had been completely overmastered by her wonderful 
charm. When she accepted him, his elation and 
triumph had raised him to the seventh heaven ; and 
yet, as he grew to be with her, and talked to her on 
terms of greater intimacy, he had felt uncomfortably 
that it was a strain : that he was not exactly acting a 
part, but acting so much above his usual level that the 
continuance of it would be a labour. With Leone he 
never felt thus. 

The motives which guide human conduct are very 
strange ; sometimes very small. If Leo had not 
been engaged when he first met her, she might never 
have made so deep an impression. The Captain 
would have been more wary, and kept himself 
upon a different footing ; for Leo was not by any 
means a brilliant match. 

Knowing her appropriated, he had associated with 
her fearlessly : and he began to fear that he had 
gone too far for his own peace of mind, 


the Ides or march. 325 

The shadow still rested on Leo’s face as he looked 
by stealth at her. How beautiful was the line of her 
profile : the impetuous mouth, the rounded chin, the 
line of throat, and the graceful sweep of her young 
form, in its neatly-fitting garment. 

“ Leo,” he said, very low, “I beseech you smile 
upon me. If you look sad, you make a strange 
swelling come in my throat, and these yellow stub- 
ble fields seem so forlorn, and even the blue sky is 
grieving.” 

She shivered, and for a little made no reply, but 
soon seemed to nerve herself to answer. 

Is it fair— is it right— to talk to me like this?” 
she faltered. 

‘ .“No,” he said, energetically, “it is not ! lama 
poor cowardly wretch, unable to keep my own feel- 
ings in the background ; you must help me to be 
strong, help me by being gay and like yourself.” 

V Gay and like myself,” she repeated, with a wist- 
ful smile. “That is not easy, to-day.” 


CHAPTER XXXVII. 

LEO’S TREASON. 

Love hangs like light about your name 
As music round the shell ; a - 
No heart can take of you a tame 
Farewell. 

Swinburne. 

“ Why is it not easy to-day ?” he asked gently. 

She did not answer: and after a little silence, he 
spoke again of something different. 

“There is Marvaulx,” he said, pointing with his 
whip to where the white walls of the abbey gleamed 
in the distance. “ This is a long hill ; will you care 
to walk a little way ? ” 


THE IDES OF MARCH. 


326 

“Yes.” 

She assented. He lifted her down, and they 
walked side by side up the steep slope. 

He was really sorry for his own unguardedness, 
and anxious to reassure her. Presently he intended 
to have her entire confidence, and he knew that this 
could never be accomplished if he scared her now, or 
was in any way too sudden or abrupt. 

All the way up the hill he chatted to her of the old 
abbey and its history. It had been a convent of nuns, 
not a monastery, and a fearful interest had been im- 
parted to it of late years by the discovery of a skeleton 
of a woman, bricked up in a wall. She was crouched 
together in such an attitude of mute despair as to 
leave no doubt of her having been buried alive. Leo 
had never heard the tale before, and it thrilled her to 
such an extent as to divert her thoughts from herself, 
as he had hoped it would. 

By the time they had arrived at the quaint and 
primitive hostelry which stood just outside the abbey 
grounds, she had quite recovered her spirits. 

Edgar ordered dinner, and secured some fruit for 
their present refreshment ; as they decided not to dine 
until Richard came. Then, leaving the horse and 
trap, they wandered away together into the wood 
which skirted the ruins. 

Of all exquisite spots for love-making, Marvaulx is 
surely first and foremost. The curve of the pure 
stream circles it like a silver bow ; the rich woods 
hang over the pellucid water. The white tower is 
reflected in the river, and the ruin itself, in wonderful 
preservation, is as fine an example as we have of 
Early English in its oldest and severest form. 

To the two who wandered, on that still sunny day, 
among the glades, its influence was almost over- 
whelming. 

Dappled deer started shyly from the bracken as they 
advanced ; the broad sunlight lay warm upon the 
moss, and streamed through the dark foliage. The 
delicate hare-bells nodded in the dew, and the good 


THE IDES OF MARCH. 


327 


scent of the hot earth steamed up into the fragrant 
air. 

They were apparently the only human creatures in 
this lonely paradise ; and the silence seemed to draw 
them nearer, ever nearer to each other. 

They rested at last, in a warm nook outside a bend 
in the abbey wall. The sight of the niche, whence 
the bones of the unhappy nun had been taken, had 
sobered Leone, and again on her face was the shadow 
which Disney could not bear to see there. 

“To be buried alive has always seemed to me the 
most dreadful death that I could picture,” she said. 

“ I fancy it would be difficult to overestimate the 
horror of it,” he answered. 

“To have your life all strong in you,” went on the 
girl, “and your heart beating, and the world — this 
beautiful world!” she glanced around — “spread 
out in your very sight, and for cruel hands to take 
you and fasten you up in the dark to die — ah ! It is 
too shocking to think of ; it makes one hate one's 
fellow-men, to think that anybody could ever have 
stood by and seen it done.” 

“Some women,” slowly said Edgar, who was lying 
face downwards upon the moss, his head resting on 
his arm, “ some women deliberately choose such a 
fate.” 

“What can you possibly mean? ” 

“I ought to have said that very few deliberately 
choose it : their parents and guardians choose it for 
them. They take them, and, as you say, shut them 
up in the dark to die ; but nowadays the dying is 
not so quickly accomplished, sometimes it takes 
a lifetime of captivity and suffering quite to kill a 
woman.” 

She looked at him with dilated eyes, but did not 
speak. 

“They brick up their souls, not their bodies, now- 
adays,” he explained. “I fancy the suffering may 
be keener, because it lasts longer ; I mean, of course 
— I am speaking figuratively. It seems to me that a, 


THE IDES OF MARCH. 


328 

woman married to a man she does not love is walled 
up. The bright outer world is no more for her ; she 
is alone, in cold and darkness ; and no human power 
can release her, all her life. 

Leo was as white as a sheet. 

She put up her hand to shade her eyes. 

At last, agitated words burst from her. 

“ But how is one to know ? How can one.be sure? 
How can one tell ? ” 

* * How can you be sure of what ? ” asked the Cap- 
tain. v 

‘ ‘ That you really love ; ” her voice shook piteously. 
“How is a girl to feel sure of her own feelings when 
they change so fast — when every day brings fresh 
thoughts and new ideas ? If you could know how 
I have changed . . . how every feeling I had seenis 
to have been transformed in the last few months ! ... . . 
But I could not explain ; I don’t understand myself: 
all my mind is in such confusion that there seems no 
firm ground anywhere ! ” 

She hid her face, while the warm wind whispered 
by, bringing puffs of seductive sweetness from the 
wallflowers which grew in the clefts of the ruined 
walls. ::>■ 

Edgar moved a little nearer to her, and : took her 
hand. She drew it away with a start. ■ 

“ Forgive me,” said his gentle voice, “ please for- 
give me, Leo. I would not hurt or wound you for 
the world. But I want to feel sure that - you.' are 
happy. I am an old friend of Dick’s, you know, and 
I like him extremely ; I can see how his happiness is 
bound up in yours. Now, can you pardon it if I 
speak frankly to you ? This may be the last time I 
shall ever dare so to address you, and in the past 
fortnight we have seemed to grow such friends : will 
you grant me the friend’s privilege of plain speech ? ” 
Her hands fell into her lap, and he saw her white 
face ; her great eyes, melting in tears, fixed far away 
on the autumn woods. She did not look at him. 

“ Yes,” she said, “ you may speak, I feel— some- 


THE IDES OF MARCH 


329 

times — as if you could help me — as if you could 
understand in a way that Dick cannot. ” 

His beautiful eyes kindled. 

“I believe that is so,” he said, “and you make 
me very proud. Now, will you try to tell me what you 
meant, just now, when you said you were not sure 
of your own feelings. Did you mean— forgive my 
unspeakable boldness — did you mean your feelings 
towards — Westmorland ? ” 

It was fine to see the rich blood spring to her face. 

“Yes,” she answered, steadily, still not looking at 
him. 

“ Leo, you must let me tell you straight out. If 
your feeling towards him admits of a doubt, you can- 
not truly love him.” She started violently. “ But, 
hear me,” he cried, earnestly, “I feel it so probable 
that you don't understand yourself. Look into your 
heart— test it. Suppose I told you Westmorland was 
dead, that you would never see him again, ” — she 
exclaimed faintly — “should you feel that it was the 
end of everything for you ? How should you feel ? 
Think what a noble fellow he is, and how handsome ! 
Would his death mean a broken heart to you — at all 
events, for the present ; would it turn your world to 
dust and ashes ? ” 

She made no answer. 

“Which would you feel more — his death or Dick's ? ” 
softly pursued Edgar. 

She gave a cry. 

“Oh, Dick's — Dick's, of course ! ” she gasped out, 
tearfully. “ Please don't talk so horribly — I cannot 
even bear to think of such a thing as losing Dick ! ” 

There was a long, long silence. Edgar never once 
took his eyes off her, watching the various feelings 
pass over her face in rapid change, like clouds casting 
shadows over the uplands. 

At last she stretched both her hands out to her 
knees and wrung them together. 

“ What am I to do ? ” she said ; and, after a pause : 
“I do not think I ought to marry him. . . . But, 


THE IDES OF MARCH. 


330 

when he asked me, I felt so sure I loved him : he is 
so good and noble. ‘ We needs must love the highest 
when we see it/ but I think he is too high up forme. 
I am a lower thing than I believed myself to be. . . . 
But what am I to do ? What can I do ? ” 

“Fays ce que dots, advienne que pourra” said Disney, 
softly. 

“Oh,” she cried, “but how could I go back from 
my word, so lately given ? What would Richard 
think of me? what would anybody think of such 
inconceivable fickleness ? why, it is not a month 
ago ! ... I sit here, as if I were staring my own self 
in the face,” she said, excitedly, “and I despise my- 
self ! I say to myself, what a wretch must you be, 
Leone Forde, to do such a fearful thing ! to give such 
a binding, solemn promise, and not to be able to keep 
it for a month ! For a month ? .... In my secret 
heart I believe I did not keep it for a week ! ” again 
she buried her face. 

His heart was beating excitedly ; had her treason 
begun even sooner than she knew — when she met 
him on the station platform ? 

“Leo,” he said, solemnly, “which would be the 
worse thing : to own your mistake while there is yet 
time, or to stand in church and utter vows which, 
even now, before you make them, are broken, as you 
yourself confess ? ” 

“ Oh, I don’t know ! I don’t know ! ” she cried. 

“ I cannot understand it. Has it been all my fault ? 

Sometimes I think I should like to feel that he has 
been to blame too ! . . . He is so cold ... so 

distant, and stiff ! It is simple truth to say that I 

know less of him now than when I engaged myself 
to him. He scarcely seems glad to see me ; I know 
he finds it difficult to talk to me ! I thought,” said 
she, with quivering lip, ‘ ‘ that I was superior to the 
desire for ordinary, vulgar love-making ; but a little 
more tenderness would perhaps — perhaps have made 
it easier to love him.” 

Disney, brought by this speech face to face with 


THE IDES OF MARCH 


331 

his difficulty, dropped his forehead between his hands 
and deliberated a long time. 

He had received from Leone a plain declaration 
that she did not love Westmorland ; this she had 
given almost spontaneously, the pent-up distress of 
her mind finding vent at the first touch of sympathy. 
Her chief cause for unhappiness, naturally, was the 
fear that her fickleness would cause Westmorland to 
suffer. As if in opposition to this feeling, she had 
gone further, and said what certainly implied a doubt 
of his affection for her. 

In these circumstances, should he be justified in 
telling her of this prophecy which lay in his pocket- 
book, suggesting so strongly another reason than 
love for the Major’s wish to marry? To put the 
question in another form : should he be justified in 
keeping such knowledge from her ? 

When the girl’s whole future hung in the balance, 
was it not his duty to put her in possession of all the 
facts ? 

It seemed to him as if the problem turned chiefly 
on the question of what were Evelyn’s feelings. Did 
he love Leo ? If so, what a treacherous hound was 
he, Disney. 

But then he was secretly so certain that Evelyn 
was not in love with her. In fact, no other hypoth- 
esis seemed to account at all satisfactorily for his 
extraordinary behaviour. The situation was more 
deeply complicated by the fact, borne in upon the 
reasoner most vividly during the past few hours, that 
he himself did love Leone, deeply and strongly, far 
too much to be able to let her go calmly, even to a 
man she cared for. To see her sacrificed to some 
one whom confessedly she did not love, was a great 
deal more than he felt able to support with forti- 
tude. 

Here they sat, side by side ; the hour was his. 
Her confidence in him showed pretty plainly that her 
heart went out to him : he could make her love him. 
Surely, surely, it was fair, taking all things into con- 


THE IDES OF MARCH. 


332 

sideration, to steal a march on Westmorland, to res- 
cue certainly one person, perhaps two, from life-long 
misery. 

It was a point of honour too delicate and too in- 
tricate for him to be able to see all its bearings. An 
inner voice seemed to say, beneath the strong current 
of his inclinations, 

“Let this matter alone. Westmorland is your 
friend, and this girl plighted her troth to him. She 
did it of her own free will, and you know pretty 
accurately that, had you not appeared on the scenes, 
she would in all probability have had no doubts of 
her feelings. You are deliberately stealing her aw T ay 
from him, who was so loyal to you that he even de- 
clined to be friends with a girl who had, as he thought, 
treated you badly. Even now, if you had the forti- 
tude to leave her, she would most likely, in her visit 
to Feverell, become more at ease with her grave 
suitor, and grow gradually happy with him. How 
do you know he does not care for her ? Is he a man 
to wear his heart upon his sleeve ! Think how her 
presence would brighten his life, her face illumine his 
lonely home. Dare you deliberately take her away 
from him ? ” 

“Yes, I dare,” he mentally replied. “ My love for 
her is my justification. It is false to say that she 
could ever be happy with him. Had she never seen 
me, it might have been ; but now it is too late. Am 
I to blame ? Did I know how matters stood when I 
came to Norchester ? Did Perseus, when he saw 
Andromeda, argue that, as all her relations had 
handed her calmly over, it was none of his business 
to try to save her ? Pshaw ! Away with such senti- 
ment ! I have seen the girl whom I love, and am I 
to sit down with folded hands and see her sacri- 
ficed?” 

“Oh, yes, you love her now,” argued the voice, 
“but how about next year, and all the years to come? 
How about Nellie Wetherell, Hope Merrion, and 
others who went before them? You are so easily 


THE IDES OF MARCH. 


333 

satisfied, is it worth while to make all this disturbance 
about Leone Forde? ” 

“ I never loved Nellie Wetherell,” was his answer. 
“I behaved like a villain to her, for I made her be- 
lieve that I did. I did not love even Hope as I love 
Leone. She suits me. I feel calmly certain of 
always liking to have her with me through all the 
years to come. I love her more self-denyingly than 
ever before ; she is poor, and the fact makes me love 
her better. It is a love worth risks, and I swear I 
will win her if I can.” 

At this determination had his disturbed thoughts 
arrived, when Leo broke the long silence. 

She spoke straight on from the point of her own 
meditations. 

“I have even thought,” she said, more as if think- 
ing aloud than as if addressing him, “ once or twice 
it has occurred to me to wonder if he loves me at all; 
or if he is not marrying me to please his father.” 

What should make you think that ? ” he asked, 
quickly. 

She looked intently at him — for the first time since 
they began to talk. 

“I think so,” she said, “ only because Mr. West- 
morland seems so overjoyed about it, and because I 
feel sure that Evelyn would do anything to please 
his father. ” 

“I suppose,” said the Captain, staring at the 
ground, “ that you know all about the prophecy? ” 

By the glance shot at him, he saw instantly that 
she knew nothing about it. 

“What do you mean?” she asked. 

For good or evil, the die was cast now. 

“It is strange, I think, you have not been told; 
Richard knows all about it,” he said. 

“ I hope you will explain, ” she answered. 

He did explain. He drew out the rhyme and laid 
it before her, in Evelyn’s handwriting. He unfolded 
to her its supposed meaning. She read it carefully, 

' listened to what he said, and then leaned forward, 


t 


334 THE ides of march ; 

her chin on one hand, while the paper drooped idly 
from the other. 

Edgar, as he looked attentively at her, knew that 
Evelyn’s doom was sealed. 


CHAPTER XXXVIII. 

EDGAR AS CONFIDANTE. 

The books say well, my brothers — each man’s life 
The outcome of his former living is: 

The bygone wrongs bring forth sorrow and woes, 

The bygone right breeds bliss. 

Edwin Arnold. 

“ What am I to do? ” she sighed at last. 

Disney was silent : a vague apprehension was 
taking hold of him. His conscience, the minute the 
thing was done, seemed to accuse him, whereas be- 
fore he had felt so certain of being in the right. He 
began to wonder whether the true, the knightly thing 
to do would not have been to go quietly away the 
moment he felt himself beginning to care for Leone, 
and await the issue, trusting to her own conscien- 
tiousness to break the engagement, if she really cared 
nothing for Westmorland ; but he had an answer 
ready for this too. She would never have gathered 
courage to take such a decisive step unsupported; 
she was so young, so distrustful of herself. 

“Right and wrong be hanged,” he reflected fiercely, 
“ all’s fair in love and war. She is full of character, 
though still young ; in a year’s time both she and 
Westmorland would be miserable, if I had allowed it 
to go on. I never showed her the thing till she had 
first owned to having made a mess of it ; then it was 
right to give her the strongest incentive to take 
decisive measures ” 


THE IDES OF MATCH. 


335 

“You don’t speak,” said Leo, heavily. “I asked 
you a question that nobody but myself could answer. 
I feel that.” 

So saying, she rose to her feet, and went and stood 
against a crumbling piece of masonry, leaning her 
arms upon it, and gazing sadly at the sun-speckled 
bracken glades under the trees. 

Edgar thought he had never seen a more exquisite 
picture. He too rose, and followed her. 

“I would do anything to help you,” he said ; add- 
ing in lower tones, “you know that.” 

“A girl who breaks her engagement is called a jilt,” 
she said, absently. “My uncle used to say that a 
betrothal was almost as solemn a thing as marriage, 
and never to be lightly entered into. I wish Hope 
were here, to console me. She is so brave, and sees 
so clearly ; she broke her engagement, because the 
man disappointed her, but she told me it was a ter- 
rible thing to do, and cost her great suffering.” 

The speaker could not see the cruel confusion which 
this speech caused her companion. 

“Oh, Leo,” he said, tremulously, “judge men 
gently ; they have so many chances to be base which 
you sweet women, sheltered and protected, know 
nothing of. Such a man as Miss Merrion sent away 
might be saved by the love of a good woman.” 

“Yes?” she said, apathetically. “I don’t know. 
I know nothing of men, or women, or of life at all ; 
only that things go wrong so easily, all of a sudden, and 
— and — I want to do right, if only I know what right 
is.” 

She was trembling with the effort to keep back tears. 

“ Leo,” said Edgar, softly, “ you and I are both at 
the most difficult part of our lives — the time when we 
have to make a choice. Do you suppose any man 
or woman gets through it without suffering ? If we 
did, the chances are that we never should be worth 
anything afterwards.” 

“ Have you suffered ? ” she asked. 

“ Yes. I did wrong, and I had to take my punish- 


THE IDES OF MARCH. 


336 

ment. I think I am the better for it, but it was pretty- 
bad at the time.” 

“When we were staying at Learning, with Mr. 
Lyster, ” said Leo, thoughtfully, ‘ ‘ we used to go up 
to the vicarage to see Mr. and Mrs. Wetherell/’ 

Edgar winced, as at a painful touch. 

“They are both very unhappy,” she went on, 
“because last. year they lost their only niece- — Nellie ; 
they were devoted to her, and she died of a decline. 
One day we had been to see her grave, and afterwards 
poor Mrs. Wetherell said, ‘My dears, the doctors; 
may call it what they like, but I know better : our 
Nellie died of a broken heart, and there's a man now 
alive that killed her. ' ” 

“Good God ! ” exclaimed Edgar ; and then, as she 
turned her startled eyes to his— “ What right has any- 
body,” he cried, “ to say such a thing — to make such 
an accusation ? ” 

“ Hope told her she had no right to say so,” replied 
his unconscious torturer. “She said no man had 
power to break a woman's heart, if only she were : 
strong. Hope used to put flowers on her grave. 
What made me think of it was what you said just now 
— that nobody gets through this part of their life with- 
out suffering. You see, Hope, Nellie, you and I 
have all suffered. I hope dear Dick will not.” . 

The wave of self-scorn which swept over Edgar at 
that moment was perhaps the healthiest emotion it 
had as yet been his to feel. It was a terrible revel- 
ation to hear of Nellie’s death. Not for a moment 
had he imagined any permanent consequences to his 
flirtation with the pretty governess. For a few mo- 
ments he loathed himself. At the same time, Hope's 
nature seemed to rise before him in a most lovely 
contrast to his own. Not a word had she spoken. 
He guessed quite well that she had purposely refrained 
from owning to the Wetherells that she had known 
Nellie in Colombo, lest she should be questioned con- 
cerning the man who had trifled with Nellie's feelings. 
He felt himself unfit to mate with any woman so good 


THE IDES OF MATCH. 


337 

and beautiful as Leone. His penitence was as severe 
as it was novel. 

“Leo/’ he said, huskily, “the terrible part of 
wrong-doing is that you can never get rid of it. You 
do one wrong, and it rears itself always ahead of you 
when you least expect it. Remember that ! — If in 
this matter of your engagement you act against your 
own conscience, you will go on repenting all your 
days. ” 

“Oh,” she answered, firmly, “I have made up my 
mind. I must tell Major Westmorland. I cannot 
let it rest as it is. ” Then she laughed, a little hardly, 
crushing the prophecy in her hand. “ It was ex- 
tremely simple of me,” she said, “ I must have been 
infatuated with vanity to think that a man like Major 
Westmorland could love a girl like me ! Why, he 
did not even know rhe 1 ” 

“You must, of course, allow me to contradict 
that,” he said. “You are so intensely lovable that 
the difficulty is to conceive of any one having any 
other motive in the case. Perhaps — perhaps, after 
all, he does love you, Leone. If you thought so, 
would it change your feelings ? ” 

“In one way: it would make me far more re- 
luctant to give him pain. But I have been thinking 
it over, and I am more and more sure that it is not 
so. I have been thinking over all his words to me, 
as far as I can remember them, — for I was in such a 
whirl I can hardly recall what passed ; but, as far as 
I am able to recollect, he never has said to me 
plainly, ‘ I love you ! ’ — never once ! ” — here, with- 
out warning, her voice failed utterly, and she burst 
into tears. 

“Go away,” she managed to gasp to him. “Go 
away, please — don’t look at me ! ” 

He went, instantly ; he had no right to kiss away 
her tears : in his present humiliation he felt as if he 
should never dare to ask for the right. Only upon 
one thing he was quite determined : that, before ask- 
ing her anything, she should hear from his lips the 
22 


THE IDES OF MARCH. 


338 

whole story of his love-affairs, unvarnished and com- 
plete. 

“ I owe her that,” he thought. 

For a time he walked up and down, out of sight 
of her, but in sight of the angle of wall which con- 
tained her. 

When he came back, she was quite quiet and 
composed, and greeted him with a little smile. 

“ If you feel well enough,” he said, “ I think we 
ought to go in quest of Dick and our dinner. ” 

“Yes, I will come,” she answered : and in silence 
they walked back through the woods which they had 
before traversed so joyously. 

In the midst of the fern he stopped for a moment, 
and took her hands. 

“ I want to tell you,” he said, “how unspeakably 
you honour me by your confidence : you will know, 
without my telling you, how sacred it will be. ” 

“Yes, thank you; you are very kind,” she re- 
plied, so spiritlessly, that he walked on in silence, 
feeling vaguely rebuked. 

When they reached the inn, Richard had not 
come. 

This seemed to make Leo uneasy and appre- 
hensive. Not all the charm and coolness of the 
quaint oak parlour, nor the temptingness of the 
repast which Disney had ordered, could give her an 
appetite ; and, as soon as he had finished eating, she 
said, diffidently, 

“It is too late to expect Dick now, is it not ?” 

“ I am afraid so ; there was only one train he 
could come by, and that should have brought him 
here a good deal more than an hour ago.” 

“Then I think, please, if you will not be offended, 

I should like to go home.” 

He explained with regret that this was impossible 
for nearly three hours to come. If they started at 
once, they would reach the station about twenty 
minutes late for the only early train. 

He was so distressed about it that she tried to 


THE IDES OF MARCH. 


339 

reassure him, and soon, seeing there was no help for 
it, consented to go back with him and thoroughly 
explore the ruins. Gradually, as they walked back, 
he succeeded in comforting her, though by slow 
degrees. He knew that, when once their former 
footing of intimacy was rebuilt, they would be closer 
friends by far than before. At present it was but 
natural that the girl should be half-afraid of the un- 
reserve into which she had been betrayed. He chose 
a beguiling subject for conversation — first his own 
childish reminiscences, then her own. She forgot 
her present troubles, by little and little, and told him 
of life at Sandwater Vicarage, and of her own delight 
at coming to live with Dick. 

“ I wish I had a sister or a mother,” she said, sadly. 
“ Hope is the sister I would have chosen.” 

They clambered up and down turret stairs, walked 
along the thick walls, and penetrated into the crypt. 
As they emerged from this last, the sound of a loud 
laugh, and the popping of a cork, warned them of 
the presence of the tourist, feeding, as is the manner 
of his kind, as close to consecrated walls as he pos- 
sibly could. 

They came out at the end of the north transept, 
and were full in view, suddenly, of the picnic party 
seated round a white tablecloth on the grass, 
with abundance of pigeon-pies, salad, and bottled 
stout spread out around them. 

As they advanced, Leo stopped abruptly short, and 
some sudden uncomfortable feeling made her crim- 
son to the roots of her hair. It was the Misses Open- 
shaw who were giving the picnic in honour of their 
brother, home from America. Leo knew every one 
of their guests, and Mrs. Hancock was among them. 
There seemed to flash instantly across her mind the 
conviction of what these people must think of her 
appearance, at such a remote spot, with Captain 
Disney. Right through her the bolt seemed to quiver ; 
she felt quite sick with the awkwardness of the 
moment. 


340 THE ides of march. 

“Oh,” murmured she to Edgar, “what shall we 
do ? I can’t, I won’t speak to them ! ” 

“No need at all, ’’ he replied, hurriedly, smiling at the 
same moment, and doffing his hat to Mrs. Hancock, 
the only lady he knew. “How do you do, Mrs. 
Hancock?” he cried, raising his voice to show he 
did not mean to come any nearer. “Seen the doc- 
tor anywhere about ? ” 

The lady so appealed to, vehemently shook her 
head, outraged propriety blazing in every linea- 
ment. 

“If you see him, tell him we are going back to the 
inn,” he replied, Unblushingly. “ Splendid day, isn’t 
it? Quite like summer again! Au revoir /” with 
which he turned back within the abbey walls, Leo 
following him. 

He saw that she was quite white, and trembling in 
every limb, but he hurried her on until they were far 
removed from the inopportune invaders of their soli- 
tude, till they had plunged deep into the tangles of 
the wood, and were once more entirely alone.- 

“ That was unlucky ! ” he said, thoughtlessly, and 
then stopped short, awed, horrified by the unspeak- 
able expression in his companion’s eyes. 

All idea of joking left him instantly. 

He was quick enough, and great part of what lay 
behind her look was perfectly intelligible to him. 

The eyes of these people had brought her suddenly 
back into the world of everyday life, out of the sweet 
enchantment in which Disney had enfolded her. The 
vague uneasiness with which she had consented to go 
off with him that morning, leaped suddenly into a 
full-grown consciousness of having done what was 
wrong. She had followed him as blindly as if he had 
mesmerised her, had confided in him utterly, had 
spoken to him with more unreserve than ever to any 
creature in her life before. 

Why had she done it? She knew now. She loved 
this man, and she did not, and never could love 
Evelyn Westmorland. 


tHE IDES OF MARCH. 


341 

The feeling uppermost in her was the consciousness 
of being utterly at his mercy. 

Heedless and easy as Edgar was, he yet saw how 
cruelly selfish his conduct had been. For the pleasure 
of having her to himself for that day, and of securing 
her confidence, he had placed her in a position whose 
awkwardness can probably be gauged only by those 
who have lived in country towns. 

That she had been seen alone with him at Mar- 
vaulx would be all over the town to-morrow : then 
would follow the news of her broken engagement. In 
the present state of local feeling with regard to Leo, 
it could safely be predicted that judgment against her 
would be unhesitatingly unkind. No one would 
believe that the cancelling of the engagement came 
from her : that such a girl should voluntarily resign 
such a chance would be considered too far beyond 
the pale of probabilities. 

Disapproval of the Fordes might even extend 
further, and injure Richard’s growing practice. In a 
flash, Disney seemed to see all this, and that the 
place would be almost too hot to hold poor Leo for 
the next few months. And how could he help her ? 
It was surely not possible to speak to her of his love 
while still she was engaged to his friend. Supposing 
that her being “on with the new love,” followed 
hard upon her being * ‘ off with the old, ” he could not see 
that this would raise her much in the eyes of the 
world. He had brought her to this, and now he was 
powerless to help her. A passion of love, sympathy, 
and regret shook him. If only she would come to 
him, what years of devoted love should atone for 
what she suffered now. 

She did suffer. He could only guess at the shame 
and bitterness that almost burst her young heart. 
The expression of her mouth, as she walked beside 
him, forced tears to his eyes : and, at last, he could 
no longer contain his feelings. 

“ Oh, Leo,” he said, “ what have I done? I have 
hurt you, whom I would die for ; I have distressed 


THE IDES OF MARCH. 


342 

you, when I would give all I have to comfort you ! 
Speak to me, please ! Your white face cuts right 
into my heart ! ” 

It might have been another woman who answered 
him. 

“ Please take no blame to yourself, Captain Disney ; 
that is all mine. I do not feel fit to enter into any 
explanation now : the kindest thing that you can do 
will be to take me straight home. ” 

“I will do it, and not say a word,” he replied, 
shamefacedly. “ I would do anything for you— 
though perhaps I should not expect you to believe 
that, now. If I live, I will find some way to prove 
it to you. ” 

Not another word passed between them until they 
reached the inn. And there, leaning over the gate, 
looking impatiently down the road by which they 
came, was Richard : and, at the expression of his face, 
Leone, who had never before seen him really angry, 
quailed. 


CHAPTER XXXIX. 

BROKEN DOWN. 

Let me and my passionate love go by, 

But speak to her all things holy and high, 

Whatever happen to me ! 

Me and my harmful love go by: 

But come to her waking, find her asleep. 

Powers of the height, powers of the deep, 

And comfort her, though I die ! 

Tennyson. 

A reason for the strange reticence of the Merrions 
about their addresses on their travels was partly given 
by Mrs. Merrion, when she arrived in England with- 
out her husband. The large firm in which he was 


THE IDES OF MARCH. 


343 

a partner was in difficulties, chiefly through his own 
imprudence. 

Bertha came to Dalby Sands in a state of mind 
anything but conducive to enable her to bear the 
pressure of anxiety. There was nobody at leisure to 
pay her any attention. Mabel Thorpe was fast 
mending, but still very weak ; GuyandWilf not yet 
allowed out of doors ; and Hope was dying. 

It was pathetic to see the devotion with which Dr. 
Humbey laboured to save her life. Hardly any one 
durst approach him ; his state of mind was so 
agitated, so highly strung. 

She seemed so passive — that was his chief distress ; 
she made no fight against the disease. 

Bertha was terribly afraid of the infection, and 
there was no room for her in the house, so she went 
to the hotel : and for nearly three days awaited the 
summons to come and bid Hope good-bye. The 
only person she had to speak to was Gilbert Greville, 
who spent half his time on the doorstep at Marine 
Parade, making inquiries and delivering consignments 
of fruit and flowers. 

The fact that, had she done her duty, Hope would 
never have been exposed to infection at all, did not 
seem to trouble Mrs. Frederic Merrion in the least. 
She was quite ready to believe that Guy’s illness had 
never been so serious as people wanted to make out, 
and that it was nothing but Miss Thorpe’s imprudence 
in allowing him to take cold that had caused him to 
develop a severe form of the complaint. 

“ Scarlatina is nothing, as children usually have it,” 
she said, calmly. ‘"Look at Wilf, he was scarcely ill 
at all. I don’t think I shall keep Miss Thorpe. I 
give her forty pounds a year, and now that both the 
boys go to school, a nursery governess at twenty 
pounds a year would do just as well, and not be so 
opinionated. Think of the expense, too, of having 
her mother stopping in the house for a week ! One 
might be made of money.” 

Poor Bertha ! She felt that she was being ill-used 


THE IDES OF MATCH 


344 

all round. It was particularly unfortunate that Hope 
should be too ill to be spoken to on business, just at 
the time when Frederic wanted her to advance the 
greater part of her fortune to him, to help him tide 
over his difficulties. She really felt as if life were not 
worth living during the days she unwillingly spent at 
the “nasty, inferior hotel. ” 

But of all the persons then suffering, in mind or 
body, Major Westmorland’s portion was perhaps least 
to be envied. He had never feared man, womhn, 
or child before, but he did fear to show his father poor 
Leo’s contrite, pleading, self-reproachful letter. 

Yet, through all the taunts, the sneers, the grief he 
had to bear, he never lost sight of one strange fact, — 
a fact, he pondered over, and considered, and could 
not understand : namely, that when first he gathered 
the sense of that letter, when first he seized upon 
the truth, that he was dismissed — released — his heart 
gave a great bound, as though a weight were lifted 
from it, and he said aloud, 

“ Thank God ! ” 

None the less, however, did he find his days in the 
dreary house almost intolerable. 

Mr. Westmorland had raved much less than might 
have been expected ; perhaps his great weakness 
warned him to avoid unnecessary exertion. He had 
merely remarked with a sneer, as he laid down the 
letter, that what had surprised him had been Miss 
Forde’s entering upon the engagement at all, not her 
wishing to be quit of it ; but as days wore on he 
seemed to sink into an absolute gloom of despond- 
ency, from which nothing roused him. 

Lady Royd, his aunt, and her two daughters, were 
put off, at his request. The exertion of seeing com- 
pany was too much for him, he said. 

“The Westmorlands are quite crazy,” was Lady 
Royd s remark, on receipt of Evelyn’s somewhat in- 
coherent letter. “His engagement is at an end, it 
seems. Just as well, I should say ; she seems to have 


THE IDES OF MARCH. 345 

been nobody, and really I don’t think it at all advis- 
able for Evelyn to marry, for I seriously believe he is 
out of his mind over the prophecy. And you may 
depend that, if it is decreed that the family is to be- 
come extinct, something will always happen to pre- 
vent his marriage/’ added her ladyship, who was a 
fatalist, and, as a member of the family, firmly be- 
lieved in the Curse. 

It was three days after the termination of his brief 
engagement, that Evelyn, on going into his father’s 
room, saw him reading a letter from Mrs. Saxon. 

“ Ypu can read that, if you like,” he said tossing it 
towards his son. 

Evelyn took it up and glanced down the first page. 

“I am not at all inclined to be sympathetic over 
the Major’s jilting,” wroteMrs. Saxon. ‘M never, as 
you know, considered the match suitable; It was too 
hurried and the girl too young. If Norchester gossip is 
to be trusted, Captain Disney seems to be at the bottom 
of it, and I think her better suited to him than to a man 
of deep character, like Evelyn. Her brother has sent 
her to Sand water Vicarage, I hear, for a long visit, for 
the whole town is talking of nothing else. He, poor 
fellow, is terribly cut up about it, and greatly blames 
himself for not having taken better care of her. He 
is coming up to us for a week’s shooting. I am afraid 
it is hardly wise of me, but Muriel seems to find it 
difficult to take any notice of anybody else ; and I 
certainly do like him, and think he will have a career, 
if only we can get him to London. 

“ I quite agree with Major Westmorland’s determi- 
nation to take his dismissal as final. 

“ We are in really great trouble just now, so much 
so that I find it quite hard to write to you on other 
subjects. You remember Hope Merrion, Muriel’s 
great friend, whom you admired so much ? She is 
dying, they fear, of scarlet fever, caught from her little 
nephew, whom she was helping to nurse, at Dalby 
Sands. She took the complaint very severely, but 
they did not dread fatal consequences till two days 


THE IDES OF MARCH. 


346 

back, when she had a bad relapse : weak as she is, 
they seem to fear the worst. Muriel is wild to go to 
her, but I dare not let her. She has never had the 
fever, and she is my only one. I feel I should not 
be justified in running such a risk, short of absolute 
necessity. ” 

Some minutes after laying down this letter, Evelyn 
became vaguely aware that his father was talking to 
him. 

“ Don’t you even hear when you are spoken to ? ” 
cried the invalid, irritably. 

“I did not hear — no ! ” said Evelyn, huskily. 

“I really never met your equal for stupidity. I 
was talking of that lovely girl, Miss Merrion. There 
was a woman indeed ! No foolish little doll, to change 
her mind fifty times a day, but a woman to live and 
die for ! And for some trumpery reason you disliked 
her. ” 

“ I was under a misapprehension,” said the Major, 
turning and pacing restlessly down the room. Then, 
his misery becoming suddenly too great for control, 
he dashed away out of the room, out of the house, 
into the garden, down the terraced slopes, never stop- 
ping until he stood by the rapid river-side, looking, 
halfimaddened, on the quickly-flowing water. 

It was too much, at last : this was the final blow ; 
if Hope died, there was no longer anything in the 
world to live for. Perhaps even now she was really 
dead — he thought of his dream at Learning, of the 
blows which he had heard clash upon her coffin. 
He looked all around, at the scenes so familiar to him 
since boyhood, with a sensation of having done with 
them all. He was in the mood in which men lay 
violent hands on themselves. To his over- wrought 
imagination, he seemed to be weary of struggling 
against fate : the doom was stronger than he. The 
prophecy should be accomplished, and his must be 
the hand. 


“Withouten Hope itshullde betyde.” 


THE IDES OF MARCH i 


347 

Yes, without Hope. If she died, he would not 
live, he mutely swore : and the agony that shook him 
told him what was the intensity of his love. 

A scuffling and a quick, asthmatical breathing near 
made him look round. It was Larrie, his dear old 
Skye, his barrack friend and companion, who, divining 
in his loving canine heart something of his master's 
trouble, had followed him with groans and panting 
down to the water-side, and now ran to him, placing 
his aged and faithful forepaws on his leg, and looking 
at him with dim eyes of exceeding affection and 
sympathy. 

Into Evelyn’s heart flashed the quick remembrance 
of the scene in the hall at Learning the morning that 
Hope and Tom arranged the dogs, and old Larrie 
amongst them, in a circle. He thought of the joyous 
laughter, the sparkling health, the defiant pride of the 
girl as she stood — of her grace, her beauty, her match- 
less, unspeakable charm. And now she was dying, 
or dead. Oh, it was manifestly impossible ! Hope 
cannot die ! 

He picked Larrie up, hugging him against his sore 
heart ; and, as he did so, a thought struck him like a 
spur, pricking him onwards. 

‘ ‘ I will go and see, ” he said to himself, 4 ‘ whether 
she is alive or no ; and if she is not. ...” 

He merely told his father he must go to London, 
and for once in his life regardless of his complaints at 
being left alone, he ordered the trap, and went straight 
off to the station to catch the up train. 

Some years afterwards —or so it seemed to him — 
he was standing before the door of the house wherein 
she lay. There was no need to inquire the number : 
the straw in the road, the muffled knocker, told their 
own tale. As he knocked, a deathly sickness seemed 
to come over him. What hung upon this moment ! 
He dared not think. 

When the door softly opened, he could scarcely 
control himself to pronounce her name. 

* ‘ I aru happy to tell you, sir, that Miss Merrion 


THE IDES OF MARCH. 


348 

was declared to be out of danger last night : she is as 
weak as it is possible to be, but conscious, and likely 
to do ■well.” 

He put out his hand against the wall to steady 
himself. 

“ That is — good news," he faltered. 

“ Yes, sir. Lady Caroline Loftus arrived yesterday 
from Ireland, and directly she was in the room, Miss 
Merrion took a turn for the better. ” 

“ I am much obliged to you. No— no name ! ” as 
she held a small tray for his card. “Good after- 
noon ! ” and he was gone. 

Bowen — for Bowen it was — smiled grimly. 

“You may not know my face, but I know yours, 
Major Westmorland," she soliloquised, as she gently 
closed the door. 


CHAPTER XL. 

THE CONVALESCENT HOME. 

O heart, how fares it with thee now, 

That thou shouldst fail from thy desire 
Who scarcely darest to inquire, 

“What is'it makes me beat so low ? ” 

Something it is which thou hast lost, 

Some pleasure from thine early years. 

Tennyson. 

Humanly speaking, Lady Caroline Loftus might be 
said to have saved Hope’s life. It was she, it will be 
remembered, who took the girl to Ceylon when she 
went to spend the winter with her younger brother 
Herbert. 

Since then, a sister-in-law in weak health and poor 
circumstances had claimed the loving and ready ser- 
vices of Lady Caroline, who had been in Ireland, and 
had not seen her favourite Hope since their voyage 


THE IDES OF MARCH 


349 

home to England together. When she heard, how- 
ever, of the illness of her beloved child, she had 
packed up at once, and hurried over as fast as boats 
: and trains could take her. 

She arrived just in time. Hope had allowed her- 
self to slip so near to the shadowy land that it 
■ seemed as if a breath would be enough to extinguish 
thh flickering flame of her life. The sudden appear- 
ance of the friend whom she loved so well just gave 
the impetus required— just aroused her, in her utter 
Weakness, to conceive a faint wish not to die. 

Lady Caroline was a handsome, dark-eyed woman, 
no longer young, though still attractive. A tragic 
romance lay behind in her past; and perhaps the true 
friendship shown to her at a critical time by Hope’s 
mother had something to do with her warm affection 
for Hope herself. She was a woman of splendid 
vitality, and her presence seemed to transform the 
house. She devoted herself to both the invalids, 
Hope and Mabel, and under her cheery regime they 
gained rapidly in health and strength. 

When it came to be a question of moving them, 
Lady Caroline had a plan to propose. Some friends of 
hers, going abroad for the winter, had made her the 
offer of their pretty cottage at Varling, a village near 
the Welsh hills. Servants and pony-carriage were all 
at her disposal until April, if she cared to have them. 

She had scarcely contemplated accepting the offer 
until she came to Dalby Sands ; but now it seemed to 
her that a winter of quiet and pure air, with good 
nursing and petting, was the very thing for the frail 
whitedaced young creature whose face struck a 
nameless feeling of pain into her tended heart every 
time she looked at it. 

Mabel should come too, for some weeks, until her 
health was firmly established, but she progressed far 
more satisfactorily than Hope, though the latter was 
now almost as determined to get well as the former 
Could be. 

The Frederic Merrions’ circumstances were notin 


35 ° 


THE IDES OF MARCH 


a very enviable condition. For the next two or three 
years they would have to live very quietly, and 
retrench in every direction ; in fact, only Hope’s gen- 
erous loan enabled them to tide over the crisis. Her 
generosity left her with only a very small income for 
the present, and half of this she proposed to pay 
Bertha for the privilege of living with them and teach- 
ing little Adeline. 

It was this apparently depressing state of things 
which was largely responsible for her greater eager- 
ness to be quite strong again. She was to have a 
chance of being of use. She was to live with Bertha 
and teach Adeline. She did not like Bertha, and had 
always a special horror of instructing ; in this way 
did she long to emulate the self-abnegation of Mabel 
Thorpe. 

Mabel herself was unconcernedly told by Mrs. 
Merrion that she should have no further occasion for 
her services ; and this was a subject of so much dis- 
tress to Hope that, when Lady Caroline broached the 
idea of her cottage “on the Marches,” she hailed it* 
with acclamation. Caroline was much interested in 
anything in the shape of a romance, and meant to 
invite Arthur Strange also, for a week to her conva- 
lescent home, as she called it. 

As soon, therefore, as Dr. Humbey — reluctantly, it 
must be admitted — allowed that Hope was well 
enough to travel, the three started with Bowen in 
attendance, and, after a night in London, arrived at 
Varling on an afternoon of soft sunshine at the begin- 
ning of November, when all the trees on all the hills 
were in their later stage of decaying splendour. 

They were# all in a mood to find the place pretty, 
but it outran their expectations. It was snug, well- 
built, well-warmed. It stood high, but was placed 
cosily. The drawing-room had a south aspect, with 
a window in the western wall, through which the 
setting of the sun beyond the “far blue hills ” was 
distinctly visible. The two maids were amiable and 
friendly, and the garden-boy, who on occasion donned 


THE IDES OF MARCH. 35 j 

livery and drove the pony, met them with broad 
smiles of welcome. Everything that the kind owners 
could think of for their comfort had been done : the 
really good piano was in tune, as Lady Caroline • de- 
lightedly discovered, and the best families in the 
neighbourhood had been asked to call upon them, lest 
they should feel their rural seclusion somewhat too 
much of a good thing. 

This last item was joyful news for the hostess, who 
was eminently sociable and by no means fond of 
solitude. Hope was not quite so charmed. She felt 
inclined to remain for a time “the world forgetting, 
by the world forgot.” 

She had a new and curious disinclination to see 
people — a feeling which Lady Caroline was quite de- 
termined to dissipate, before it grew too strong. 

She knew quite well that something had gone 
wrong with Hope, and when first she saw her had 
wondered, with much dismay, whether she could 
possibly be regretting her break with Disney. This 
idea was dispelled soon, when the girl, as if in relief 
at pouring out her heart to some one who had known 
the story, told her of the shock it had been to hear of 
Nellie Wetherell’s death, and of her seeing her grave 
at Learning. By the way she alluded to the whole 
affair, her astute friend knew well that her only feel- 
ing was thankfulness at being free of the engagement, 
shame at having entered into it. 

She made no attempt to force her confidence, 
knowing quite well that, if Hope meant to tell her, 
she would do so without being urged, and that, if she 
had decided not to, she would not change her de- 
cision. 

She had an idea that Bowen knew, an idea acquired 
she scarcely knew how. But even had she felt in- 
clined to question the maid, which was far from 
being the case, she felt that it would be worse than 
useless ; Bowen would guard her young mistress's 
secret at any cost. Since the danger of losing her, 
the woman’s love was touching in its devotion. She 


THE IDES OF MARCH. 


35 * 

watched her jealously, detecting the first signs of 
fatigue, regular as a machine with tonics and beef- 
tea, and ubiquitous in halls and passages, armed 
with wraps. She loved Lady Caroline, because Lady 
Caroline loved Hope, and would do anything for her, 

“Maiden ladies living in the country seem to me. 
to lead a most luxurious life ! ” cried Hope, merrily, ., 
one morning as she sat in the drawing-room eating 
her soup, while Lady Caroline wrote letters, and 
Mabel trimmed herself a hat. 

“They don’t all live in Convalescent Homes,” 
laughed Mabel. 

“Ah, no ! But what a bad training this is for me, 
now that Lam just starting on my new way of life,”, 
said Hope, gravely. “ This is no preparation for 
turning and dyeing my gowns, riding in omnibuses, 
and going third class everywhere. Why do you look 
so mournfully at me, Mabel?” 

“I can’t fancy you, somehow ! I wonder if you 
have counted the cost of going third class every- 
where. ” 

“Why should I mind?” said Hope, intrepidly. 
“ I believe you think much more seriously of it than 
I do i ” 

“Of course,” was Mabel’s quiet answer, “ because 
I know from experience the meaning of ‘ going third 
class everywhere,’ and you don’t. Daughters of rich 
men fear poverty much less than daughters of poor 
men, just simply because they don’t know what they 
are talking of.” 

“ Very sensible,” observed Lady Caroline, from her 
writing-table. “ Hope — don’t talk nonsense ! ” 

“ Its not in the least nonsense,” maintained Hope, 
in high dudgeon. “ I know quite well what it means. 
You give one and elevenpence halfpenny for your 
gloves, and if you go to the theatre, you go in your 
hat, and you live in West Kensington and dine early. 

I sha’n’t mind any of that.” 

Mabel laughed again. 

“Nobody could make you realise it,” she said, 


THE IDES OE MARCH 


35 3 

with an air of superior knowledge which provoked 
Hope beyond measure. 

“Wait till you have seen me try ; I will make you 
both own that you misjudge me ! ” she cried. “ If 
Carina were not so foolish about my not being strong 
yet, I would start for London to-morrow, to help 
Bertha get into her new house ! ” 

“ I should, ” said Lady Caroline, without turning 
round. “ You look just about fit to be carrying 
furniture about. Dear me ! ” suddenly. “We have 
a visitor ! The vicar of the parish is evidently about 
to leave his card ! ” 

As she spoke, a slight, clerical-looking figure 
passed the window, and Mabel, looking up, gave a 
cry, and started to her feet. 

* 4 Oh, Lady Caroline ! It is Arthur ! ” 

“What ! ” Her ladyship faced round, and gave a 
keen look into the blushing, transfigured face. 

“ Well, my dear, you had better go and let in Mr. 
Strange; and if by any chance you should have 
anything of a private nature to say to him, there is 
the dining-room, you know.” 

Mabel, after one rapturous look at Hope, bounded 
to the door. 

“I can't understand it ! ” she panted. “How can 
he afford the time or the money to come here ? ” and 
she was gone, closing the door behind her. 

The house was so still that they could not help 
hearing the quick accents of the masculine voice, and 
the girl’s sobbing cry of “Arthur ! ” 

Then the dining-room door was heard to shut, and 
silence reigned. 

Hope lay on her sofa with closed eyes. She was 
not strong enough to bear much emotion, and a 
nameless desolation had crept over her as she heard 
that thrilling cry. 

How beautiful to love like that ! 

She almost wished that it had been in her power 
to give Gilbert Greville what he craved. 

He had begged so hard to see her before she 

2 3 


THE IDES OF MARCH. 


354 

left Dalby Sands, but she had been firm in her re- 
fusal. 

She had written to him a little note of gratitude for 
his gifts of flowers, and his great kindness during her 
illness: a note of what Mrs. Browning calls “ gelid 
sweetness. ” 

It left no loophole for any man, however besotted, 
to dream the writer could be in love with him. She 
liked him too well to trifle with him. She had no 
love in her heart, she told herself ; but the face of 
Mabel Thorpe, as she caught sight of her lover, 
seemed to fill Hope with a tremulous unrest which 
caused tears to gather in the large eyes, larger now 
than ever in the wan little face. 

■ ‘ Poor child ! ” said Carina, tenderly. 

She meant Mabel, not Hope. 

“She looked so pleased, so transformed, when she 
caught sight of his face, she was really pretty at that 
moment,” she went on. 

As she spoke, the dining-room door was vehe- 
mently thrown open, flying steps crossed the hall, 
and Mabel Thorpe burst in, in tears, rushed across 
the room, cast herself on her knees by Hope’s sofa, 
flung her arms about her, and, burying her face in 
her neck, sobbed aloud. 

“Mercy on me ! What’s to do now? ” cried Lady 
Caroline, addressing her highly pardonable inquiry 
to the young priest who followed Mabel, and stood, 
half uncertainly, in the doorway. 

His illumined expression seemed to show that the 
“to-do” was of no woeful origin ; but his voice was 
apparently not perfectly under control, for he made 
more than one ineffectual effort to speak, and after 
all it was Mabel who first found her voice. 

What she said was at first so entirely incoherent 
that nothing could be gathered from it except that she 
was in a state of extravagant gratitude to Hope for 
something she had done. 

Hope, also in tears, for she was very weak, was 
disclaiming, and saying there was nothing to thank 


THE IDES OF MARCH. 


355 

her for ; till Lady Caroline, with firmness, went up to 
the inarticulate pair and drew Mabel away. 

“My dear child, you must consider Hope, she is 
not at all strong yet ! Now, do tell us what it is." 

“I am very sorry to take it so badly," gasped 
Mabel, who was trembling. “I am ridiculous, I 
know, but it seems to me that joy is harder to take 
quietly than grief ! It is all through Hope ; God will 
make her happy, I know, as happy as I am now, 
because she thought of me, felt for me, helped me so ! " 

“ Oh, Mabel, indeed you make me feel ashamed, 
dear," cried Hope, deprecatingly. “I did nothing, 
nothing ! I only just mentioned you to Molly, to Mr. 
Lyster ! It is he alone who should be thanked." 

“He told me," said Arthur, speaking for the first 
time, ‘ ‘ that he did it for your sake. " 

Hope held out her hand. 

‘ ‘ I am very glad to know you ; I think you a most 
fortunate man,” she said. 

“Fortunate ! you are right,” he replied, all his heart 
in his eyes as they rested on Mabel. ‘ ‘ Now that I 
can offer her a home, I have nothing to wish for.” 

“Now tell us all about it, sensibly,” interrupted 
Lady Caroline, “for I am completely in the dark. 
There never was a more bewildered woman than I 
am at this moment ! What has happened ? what has 
Mr. Lyster done for Hope’s sake ? ” 

Then Arthur Strange told his story. He had been 
four days at Learning, staying with Mollie, and liked 
him, Mr. Wetherell, and the parish and everything. 
It was arranged that he was to take sole charge at 
Christmas whilst Mr. and Mrs. Wetherell went son th, 
to try and re-establish the old man’s health. 

“And he wants me to bring my wife, and to live 
at the vicarage whilst we are getting our home ready, " 
he said, his eyes fixed upon the usually self-possessed 
Mabel, who was childishly hiding her face against 
Lady Caroline. 

This was quick work. It left Mabel not much 
more than a month in which to make her preparations 


356 the ides of march . 

for matrimony, and Arthur said her mother thought 
she ought to come home in a week at latest. 

Hope and Lady Caroline threw themselves into all 
the plans with eager interest To Mabel, this sudden 
realisation of all her most unlikely dreams seemed too 
good to be true. It took a long, long tete-h-tete with 
her Arthur to in any degree compose her agitation. 

Hope wrote a most grateful and affectionate letter 
to Mollie, telling him that to him she owed one of the 
purest moments of happiness that her life had ever 
known. He replied that young Strange was a splen- 
did fellow, and it was a pleasure to be able to help 
him. 

His letter was long and chatty, and told of all the 
little pieces of news which he thought might interest 
her. One bit of intelligence which was included in it 
was indeed news, and contained food for much re- 
flection. It had been, for some reason known to her- 
self, excluded carefully from Muriel’s letters. This 
was the announcement of the breaking of Evelyn's 
engagement. 


CHAPTER XLI. 

IN THE MUDDY LANES. 

Should I fear to greet my friend, 

Or to say, “ Forgive the wrong,” 

Or to ask her, “Take me, sweet, 

To the regions of thy rest? ” 

Tennyson. 

It had rained for three days almost without intermis- 
sion, and to Evelyn Westmorland it seemed as if it 
never would stop. 

He stood before the hall window with Larrie in his 
arms, gazing down the valley at the swollen, swirl- 
ing waters of the Bourne, as it rushed past, heavy 


THE IDES OF MARCH 


357 

and dark with peat washed down from the hills. 
The old butler was laying lunch in the subdued and 
melancholy manner in which it seemed the fashion 
to do everything at Feverell. 

Near a roaring fire, old Mr. Westmorland reclined 
on his invalid couch. His paralysis was increasing 
slowly but surely, and, though he had speedily re- 
covered his full powers of articulation, his lower limbs 
seemed to become weaker every day. With his 
speech, his features had righted themselves, but his 
countenance was so bloodless, and his face so thin 
and sharp, that it looked like an ivory mask. 

The hall was very hot — too hot, for the day was 
mild, though damp ; yet the couch was drawn as 
close to the chimney-corner as it could conveniently 
be placed. On a table near lay a heap of books and 
periodicals— the old favourites of this man of letters : 
Shelley, Keats, the. Essays of Elia, Dryden, and 
Miltons prose. With these, a heap of latter-day and 
ephemeral celebrities, archaeological pamphlets, re- 
views, political brochures. 

All of them failed to interest now. On the chiselled 
face was a strange, somewhat horrible look — the look 
of a man who has yielded himself a slave to super- 
stition. He had reached the lowost depth of fatalism : 
resentment against Evelyn was dying out — pity at 
his hard lot was taking its place. What use to seek 
to frustrate the workings of Fate ? What were he and 
his son but victims— passive victims— of the wrong 
done by their ancestors in remote generations ? How 
explain Evelyn's curious lack of a desire for marriage, 
but by the fact that his destiny was too strong for 
him ? 

To the old man's diseased imagination, the Curse 
seemed to have been working traceably for years and 
years u£ to this very point. 

This remote visiting of the sins of the fathers upon 
the children had been discovered, he reflected, long 
ages ago by those wise old Greeks, who seemed to 
discern all truth, howsoever darkly. 


358 


THE IDES OE MARCH. 


“What meant the woes on Tantalus entailed, 

Or the dark sorrows of the line of Thebes ? 

Fictions in fact, but in their substance truths, 
Tremendous truths ! ” 

Mr. Westmorland had thought out the whole tragedy 
in his own mind, and had decided that his son would 
die on the first of March, leaving only himself to 
fade slowly out of existence in the empty halls of this 
old Chase, which, three generations back, had been 
the gayest, most open house in the county. 

On this pleasing consummation his mind loved 
to dwell, and Evelyn was powerless to divert his 
thoughts. He could not even induce him to leave 
home, though his doctor strongly urged him to go to 
Malvern for the strengthening of his limbs. Evelyn 
had come to the conclusion that the only thing to do 
was to stay quietly at home until the fatal date was 
past. If the horrors of anticipation did not kill his 
father, he might perhaps take a turn for the better 
afterwards. 

The room was very quiet. The dogs, overpowered 
by heat, lay extended on the floor in various direc- 
tions : old Larrie’s asthmatical cough alone broke the 
silence. 

At last Mr. Westmorland spoke. 

“ I wish to goodness you would take that brute out 
of the room, Evelyn ! How often am I to tell you 
that I cannot endure the noise he makes ? ” 

“ It’s the damp,” said Evelyn, slowly, turning from 
the window like one awakened from a dream, and 
caressing the terrier's head. 

“ I must request that you turn him out of the room,” 
fretted the invalid. 

“ I’m going myself to the stables. The rain has 
stopped. I’ll ride over to Winstanton this afternoon, 
and tell the vet. to give me something for his cough.” 

He went out, wandered down the passages to the 
housekeeper’s room, and left Larne in the loving care 
of Mrs. Middleton, the old housekeeper ; then, turning 
up his coat-collar, and thrusting a cloth cap on his 


THE IDES OF MARCH. 


359 

short, black locks, he repaired to the stables to order 
his horse. 

Of late he seemed to care to ride only one horse, 
the black hunter which had carried Hope across Lim- 
merdale. 

Mounted on this animal, he started for Winstanton 
directly after lunch. 

“I suppose you won’t be back before night?” 
snapped his father as he took leave. 

‘ ‘ I will be as quick as I can ; I have not been out 
for three days, you know. If I see Hammond (the 
agent), shall I send him up to keep you company ? ” 

‘ ‘ Certainly not. I won’t see him. ” 

“Well, I must look sharp, I suppose; good-bye. 
You have all you want ? ” 

No answer. Evelyn departed, telling Farren, who 
was going upstairs, to look in upon the master at fre- 
quent intervals. 

It was not raining : the clouds were higher and of 
a more broken description, though still the whole sky 
was grey. 

December was advancing, and the leaves were all 
down : the country was dreary and desolate. 

The Major’s meditations, when alone, were always 
on one subject, and to-day was no exception to the 
rule. He thought continually of Hope, and of the 
fatal misunderstanding between them, and of her ill- 
ness, and, more than all, of the day on the moors to- 
gether, when it had been his privilege to serve her. 

He wondered what she was doing now, wearying 
his brain with conjectures as to her whereabouts. A 
desire had had possession of his soul ever since his 
first meeting with Disney, and discovery of the hate- 
ful injustice he had done her. This was, for once to 
see her, face to face, and ask her to forgive him. 

Would it be an unwarrantable intrusion — a liberty 
which she might resent, were he to ascertain her 
address, and go to her for this purpose ? She might 
refuse to see him. 

He had thought of writing, and in fact had more 


THE IDES OF MARCH 


360 

than once started a letter to her : but the aspect of his 
penitence on paper seemed so bare and meagre, com- 
pared with the mighty flood of his remorseful grief, 
that he dared not risk it. No lady, under the circum- 
stances, could well do less or more than to return a 
formal, polite, and stereotyped assurance of forgive- 
ness, which he felt would be as a stone to his hungry , 
heart, and not the bread for which he craved. 

Some few details of the earlier stages of her con- 
valescence, he had gathered from Mrs. Saxon’s letters 
to his father ; but the Saxons had gone to Italy in the 
beginning of November, and since then he had heard 
nothing. 

He was beginning to feel that this absence of tid- 
ings was intolerable. 

Every now and then, as he dragge d through the 
weary hours at Feverell, the longing to see her became 
so strong as to be absolute torture. He would sit by 
the hour together in a reverie, recalling her Words, 
her looks, her ways. The scent of violets always 
helped him to realise her, and he had manifested an 
interest in the culture of Parma violets under glass, 
which had delighted and surprised the head gardener. 
He had now a little bunch of them in his button-hole ; 
and all the way to Winstanton he was thinking of her, 
always of her, till his imagination grew bold, and he 
wove an airy castle in which she not only forgave 
him, but admitted him to her friendship ; and he 
might have perhaps soared beyond even these heights, 
had he not arrived at the veterinary surgeon’s door. 

The short winter’s day was waning as he turned 
homewards. A red light tinged the grey vapour on 
the western horizon. The country seemed so lonely 
and mournful that his heart sank within him, as all 
alone he rode through the muddy lanes. Even the 
sound of wheels in front of him, hidden by a turn in 
the high hedges, was welcome. Soon he came in 
sight of a basket pony-carriage, trotting briskly along, 
driven by a lady, with another lady at her side, and 
a small solemn groom in livery perched up behind. 


THE IDES OF MARCH 


361 

He eyed them keenly as he rode up, wondering 
who they were, for most of the residents in the neigh- 
bourhood were of course known to him by sight ; but 
certainly the lady driving was a stranger, for he could 
see her profile as she turned smiling to her companion. 
She seemed to tell her to look at the red light in the 
west, for the other, who was much muffled in furs, 
raised herself a little, and something in the way she 
moved her head made the Major start ridiculously: 
for he thought it was like Hope Merrion. 

His mind was always so full of her that such a 
fancy was most natural. Yet, as he quickly gained 
upon the stout pony, he could not resist turning to 
look again at this unknown girl. The unwonted 
sound of horse's hoofs, and the sight of a tall horse 
and rider passing in the lane, made her glance round. 

Their eyes met, and it seemed to Evelyn as if the 
atmosphere of the globe had suddenly become im- 
possible to breathe ; as if the murky fields and leafless 
trees whirled round in a mystic dance. His horse 
had carried him a good way past the little chaise 
before he recovered enough to pull up and turn 
round. 

Yes, it was she — his Lady. 

Hope had made some sort of exclamation which 
caused Lady Caroline to check the pony, while gazing 
in a puzzled way at the girls face, which seemed to 
have caught the reflection of the sky and to flame 
with sudden red. 

“ What a magnificent man ! Do you know him ? ” 
murmured she, as he came towards them ; and Hope 
with, as it seemed to her, the last particle of force in 
her body, replied in stifled tones : 

“ It is Major Westmorland." 

To his own great satisfaction and astonishment, he 
found himself capable of raising his cap, and saying, 

“ How do you do ? ” 

Hope bowed— -yes ! it was true. 

She looked confused, certainly, but she did not cut 
him, nor even show any very obvious displeasure at 


THE IDES OF MARCH . 


362 

sight of him. She found voice to murmur, very low, 
“ Lady Caroline Loftus.” He heard it; he thought 
her faintest whisper would have power to arouse him 
from sleep or death. He bowed to the keen-eyed 
lady, whose ready speech at once filled in the thrilling 
pause. 

“Major Westmorland ! I have often heard of you. 
I am very pleased to meet you. Are you staying in 
this part of the world ? ” 

“My home is here,” he answered, hearing the 
hammering of his own heart more plainly than his 
words. “ I live at Fevered — about four miles from 
this. Are you staying hereabouts ? ” 

“Yes; we are wintering together, Miss Merrion 
and I, at Varling.” 

“With the Gardiners? I thought they were 
abroad.” 

“ They have given me the use of their house.” 

It was incredible ; the tumult of his mind aug- 
mented. 

Not only was he at this moment seeing and address- 
ing her, but she was fixed within a few miles of him. 
What had he done to deserve such happiness as 
this ? 

He devoured her with his eyes — the white face, 
the thin cheeks, the sad mouth. 

“I hope you are feeling better? ” he said, stiffly. 

“She is mending most satisfactorily,” answered 
Lady Caroline for her, “but I dare not risk keeping 
her out any longer in this damp. We are just going 
home to tea : will you come on with us and have 
some ? It is such a cheerless evening ! ” 

Would he come ? 

He never hesitated. For the first time he forgot 
his father, forgot his promise to be home early, forgot 
everything in the universe except the one fact that he 
was riding beside Hope — that he was in her presence. 
So far this was enough, if not too much, of bliss. 

It was strange how, once free of the burden of his 
engagement to Leo, all idea of her seemed to have 


THE IDES OF MARCH. 363 

left his mind. She might as well have never existed, 
for all he thought of her now. 

But Hope wondered if he was grieving : he looked 
so worn and depressed. As he walked the great horse 
beside them, replying gravely and sparely to Car- 
ina’s easy, bright talk, she was speculating as to how 
hard the blow had fallen : and whether he was heart- 
broken. 

Bowen, who was waiting somewhat anxiously for 
Miss Merrion’s return, smiled within herself as she saw 
the large outline of the Major and his horse loom up 
in the twilight. 

The usually slow Evelyn had dismounted in an in- 
stant to-night, in time to help Hope out of the pony- 
carriage. 

■ It seemed impossible to believe that it was really 
he himself : across his memory flashed the recollec- 
tion of his carrying her over the stream, in the pelting 
thunder rain. How wee her hand seemed in his own ! 

As she stood on the threshold, she turned her face 
up to him, and asked softly, 

“Is that the horse I rode ? ” and he answered gently, 

“Yes.” 

There seemed nothing of her when Bowen had 
carried away the heavy furs which enveloped her, 
and the absence of her hat revealed a crop of short, 
silky curls all over her head. The tears started to 
his eyes, as she sat down in the nook of a big, cosy 
sofa, and leaned back as though tired out. 

“You are not strong,” he said, in tones gruff with 
concealed feeling. 

“Oh, she is getting on with great strides,” cried 
Lady Caroline, lying aside her own furs, and seating 
herself at the gipsy tea-table. “If I could only get 
her to sleep at nights, I should be quite happy. I take 
her into the open air as much as possible.” 

Evelyn stood erect on the fur hearth-rug, looking 
out with a nameless enjoyment at the bright, attract- 
ive room full of feminine trifles. How seductive 
a thing was afternoon tea, after the dreary chill out- 


THE IDES OF MARCH. 


364 

side ! How it warmed the solitary fellow’s heart to be 
here — here, with Hope, who was not unkind — was not 
even cold to him. He had the unspeakable honour 
of arranging, by Lady Caroline’s request, a small 
table at Miss Merrion’s elbow, and placing her cup 
and plate thereon ; but he noticed that she scarcely 
ate a mouthful. 

Lady Caroline talked so much, and so naturally, 
that he had time to collect himself and steady his 
nerves, and was able to join quite rationally in the 
talk, when called upon to do so. 

‘ ‘ What is it smells so deliciously ? ” cried she. 
“Just like violets ! I could declare there were vio- 
lets in the room.” 

“They are in my coat,” said he. 

“ Oh ! So they are ! How delicious ! Hope, was 
it not only yesterday we were longing for violets ? 
There are none to be had in Winstanton, for love or 
money.” 

“I grow them at Feverell,” he eagerly broke in. 
“ I will send you as many as you like, if you will 
accept them. In the meantime, will you object to 
these ? They are rather faded, I'm afraid, but they 
will soon freshen up in water.” 

Putting down his tea-cup on the mantelpiece, he 
detached the flowers from his button-hole, and laid 
them by Lady Caroline’s plate. Hope thought no 
action of his had ever so become him. Timidly she 
allowed her eyes to rest upon him, as he received 
thanks from her ladyship : and the result of her 
scrutiny was puzzling. 

He looked ill, to her, who had seen him before his 
unlucky engagement. She remembered how entirely 
vigorous and healthy she had thought him — what a 
robust specimen of manhood. Now there was an 
indescribable change, which, by some mysterious 
means, had lent an added delicacy to the features, a 
depth to the eyes, which had not before been there. 
How much would she have given to know his 
thoughts : if he was glad to be there, whether his 


THE IDES OF MARCH. 


365 

mood towards herself was bitter, as on the starlight 
night in the garden, or gentle, as when he had held 
her hand and soothed her in; the charcoal-burner's 
hut. Ah, what a keen flood of memories the sight 
of him called into being! The black, wild, stormy 
moor was present to her imagination, and the picture 
of that dark head as she had seen it last, the rain 
drenching it as it moved beside her horse, its outline 
growing ever less distinct in the gathering night ; 
and the 

“ Resolute shoulders, each butting away 
The haze, as some bluff river headland its spray.” 

Then, for a brief hour in that perilous time, these 
two had cast away convention, and faced each other, 
man and woman, drawn together by the pressure of 
a common danger. Could this quiet polished gentle- 
man, with his subdued voice and gentle manner, be 
ther man who had forcibly wrapped her in his coat, 
who had gazed on her opening eyes with an expres- 
sion in his own which had well-nigh stopped the 
beating of her heart, who had caught her in his arms 
and cried, “I am stronger than you, and I will make 
you .do it I” Ah! it could not come over again. It 
had required much to call the fire from the flint. 
Now it was, to all appearance, cold again. 

That sharp striking together of their two bare souls 
could not repeat itself, she reflected, sadly, and then 
she wondered why such reflections should sadden 
her. Was it because, amidst so much that was heart- 
less, so much that seemed wasted in her life, there 
had flashed suddenly upon her soul a revelation of 
light — a perception of that great strength of a strong 
man which all women unconsciously desire to know ? 

It was almost as though some huge flood had furi- 
ously driven her against a . giant rock, and by its very 
violence held her there so that she could feel its 
massive strength ; but, as the tempestuous waves 
abated, she had fallen away again, and now lay on 


366 the ides of march. 

the sands below, safe from storm, but out of reach of 
the mighty rock which had befriended her. 

So dreamed the girl, gazing absently into the clear 
fire, till startled from her reverie by what Lady 
Caroline was saying as she chatted gaily on : 

“ I had another patient in my convalescent home,” 
she said, “ a Miss Thorpe. She has gone home to 
make ready for her wedding. There is quite an 
epidemic of marrying and giving in marriage just 
now. Miss Merrion heard only this morning from a 
friend of hers that she is engaged. By-the-by, you 
must have met her, she was at Learning — a Miss 
Forde ! And the curious thing is that she is to 
marry a man that we knew in Colombo — a Captain 
Disney ! ” 

So blithely, Lady Caroline, unknowing what a 
hornet s nest she was putting her hand into. Hope 
could not have looked at Westmorland had her life 
depended upon it. Had she done so, she would 
have seen that he was quietly smiling. 

“ Disney is a friend of mine : we were in the same 
regiment,” she heard him saying composedly : and 
then, Lady Caroline proceeding to ply him with ques- 
tions, he answered them all unconcernedly, showing 
not the slightest confusion, even when asked if he 
liked Miss Forde. 

Hope could hardly believe her ears. 

He did not make a very long visit ; his father would 
be missing him, he said. 

“You may have heard how ill he has been,” he 
added to Hope. 

As soon as he was gone, Lady Caroline fell into 
raptures over him. So unlike the usual run of young 
men ! 

“I did like that simple, manly way in which he 
said his father would be missing him. I am charmed 
to think he is within reach,” said she, sniffing at her 
violets with great satisfaction. “As you know, it is 
always to my taste to have a nice young man avail- 
able,” she added, laughing. “And he lives with his 


THE IDES OF MARCH. 367 

father and takes care of him ! How particularly 
picturesque of him ! But you never told me how 
handsome and well-mannered he is ! You never 
described him in the least. " 

Hope gave no answer. She herself was wondering 
at Evelyn’s beauty and courtesy. Surely he was 
changed from the morose, discontented fellow she 
remembered ? What a strange being he must be ! 
His fiancee had coolly thrown him over only a month 
or two ago and was now going to marry another 
man ; yet she had never seen him so interesting. 

“The Major looks a trifle different to-night, to 
what he did last time I see him,” remarked Bowen, 
with grim humour, when Miss Merrion came up to 
dress for dinner. 

“When was that?” asked Hope, absently thinking 
of Learning. 

“On the doorstep of Marine Parade, Dalby Sands, 
which heaven be thanked we’re out of, and I hope 
never to set foot in no more. ” 

“Bowen, you must be dreaming ! You saw Major 
Westmorland at Dalby Sands ? What are you think- 
ing of ? ” 

“Either him or his ghostie conte to inquire how 
you was, miss, for I answered the door myself. ^ The 
day Dr. Humbey said you’d pull through, ’twas. 

‘ No, no name,’ says he, not recognising me, as was 
natural. But I think I know Major Westmorland 
when I see him.” 


368 


THE IDES OF MARCH. 


CHAPTER XLII. 

ABSOLUTION. 

“ May God judge me so,” 

He said at last. — “ I came convicted here, 

And humbled sorely, if not enough. I came, 

Because this woman, from her crystal soul 
Had shown me something which a man calls light : 
Because, too, formerly, I sinned by her 
As then and ever since I have, by God, 

Through arrogance of nature — though I loved 
Whom best, I need not say, since that is writ 
Too plainly in the book of my misdeeds : 

And thus I came here to abase myself, 

And fasten, kneeling, on her regent brows 
A garland which I startled thence one day 
Of her beautiful June-youth. ” 

E. B. Browning. 

It was seven o'clock when Evelyn rode into the 
stable yard : and when, twenty minutes later, he hur- 
ried into the little blue drawing-room, as they called 
it, his father sat there in awful state, his aspect 
giving warning of stormy weather. 

“I am glad the veterinary surgeon's conversation 
was so enthralling," was his pleasant beginning; 
“ but on a balmy night like this, one doubtless likes 
to linger out of doors, especially when there is no- 
body but a cross old man to come home to." 

“ Ah ! " said Evelyn, so cheerily that his father 
looked suddenly up at him, “ I was better employed 
than in talking to the vet. or dawdling about in the 
mist. I met friends, and have been out to tea. " 

“ Oh, indeed ! " 

This going out to tea was so unlike Evelyn’s usual 
proceedings, that Mr. Westmorland’s flow of com- 


THE IDES OF MARCH. 369 

plaint was quite checked, and he waited in silence to 
hear more. 

“Somebody that I never expected to see," went on 
his son, ‘ * and a great favourite of yours, father. 
Miss Merrion.” 

“Miss Merrion ! What in the world is she doing 
here?" 

The Major explained, leaning his broad back 
against the mantelpiece, and basking in the warmth. 

‘ * And, please, father, I want you to ask them to 
dinner," was his astounding conclusion. 

“What next, I wonder? I am totally unfit to see 
company. And you declared to me once that you 
had special reasons for disliking Miss Merrion." 

“Yes, that was a mistake," said Evelyn, frankly. 
“ I behaved very badly : I was very rude. You see, 
I want to show them a little civility, just as a sort of 
apology. Ell write the note to Lady Caroline myself 
— you sha’n’t be bothered : and you will enjoy talking 
to her, it will cheer you up. She has been every- 
where, and plays beautifully." 

“Well, I don’t know what to make of you ; but I 
suppose you must have your way, as usual," was the 
peevish and conspicuously unjust reply, “only they 
must put up with me as I am ; I am in no mood to 
entertain guests. " 

“Dinner is served," said the butler. 

As soon as he could escape from table, Evelyn 
went and wrote his invitation. It seemed to him as 
if the burning desire to speak to Hope, to crave her 
pardon, would consume him unless speedily satisfied. 
How strange it had seemed to stand in the same room 
with her, talking of ordinary subjects, like any chance 
acquaintance meeting unexpectedly : when under 
the smooth surface there throbbed and thrilled such 
an ocean of passion and tenderness and regret. 

Beyond reconciliation he would not, however, 
allow his winged thoughts to soar. 

Having composed his note, he went to tell a man 
to carry it, and then down to the head gardener’s 
24 


THE IDES OF MARCH. 


370 

lodge, rousing him from supper in the bosom of his 
family to proceed to the frames and gather violets 
with a lavish hand. 

The invitation was for Thursday, this being Mon- 
day, and Evelyn added. 

“As we feel sure the night air is not good for Miss 
Merrion, we shall take the liberty of sending the 
brougham to fetch you. You said you could not get 
violets in Winstanton, so I am venturing to ask you 
to accept a few, with my kind regards to you and 
Miss Merrion.” 

“You must wait for an answer,” said Evelyn to 
his messenger : and spent the interval between his 
going and returning in a state of trepidation which 
aroused his own scorn. He could scarcely believe 
his good fortune when he held Lady Caroline’s note 
of cordial acceptance in his hand. 

The retainers at Feverell thought that the young 
master was out of his senses when the day arrived, so 
fidgety and exacting was he over the preparations. 

Fires roared the whole day in the large drawing- 
room and in the dining-room, both rooms being sel- 
dom used by the two men, and Evelyn being terribly 
afraid lest his fragile little love should take a chill. 

He had spent the intervening days chiefly in rid- 
ing about the neighbouring lanes in pursuit of the 
Varling pony-carriage, but had not had the good for- 
tune to encounter it. His suspense made him so 
restless that he was a burden to himself and all around 
him. 

He insisted on the production of all the antique 
silver table decorations, “just as if it was a dinner- 
party of eighteen,” as the old butler somewhat crossly 
remarked. He devasted the conservatory to try to 
produce floral effects such as he had seen at Hessel- 
burgh, and laboured long with Mrs. Middleton, in the 
seclusion of her sitting-room, to arrange the priceless 
vases with something approaching an artistic result. 

“Bless his heart, I ain’t seen him so interested in 
anything since he was a boy,” said the old lady 


THE IDES OF MARCH 37 1 

to Farren. “Is the ladies that's coming young?" 

“Miss Merrion’s a beauty/’ replied Farren, “but 
I never noticed as he was sweet upon her, myself. " 

“I wish he might be ; it seems a shame for such 
as him to be single, don't it ? " said Mrs. Middleton, 
sympathetically. 

The Major was dressed and downstairs more than 
half an hour before the ladies could possibly arrive. 
When his father was wheeled into the room, he was 
whistling a tune, and making old Larrie dance to it, 
holding him by his fore paws. 

When at last the bell was heard, he sobered 
instantly. His fictitious gaiety ceased, and his fears 
got the better of him. 

He stood up, grave and still, counting his own 
heart-beats till the door was seen to open, and Lady 
Caroline rustled in, looking charming in black lace 
and poinsettias. 

For just one awful moment he thought she was 
alone ; but, as he started forward with the inquiry 
on his lips, Miss Merrion came slowly in, and walked 
up the long room. 

She did not seem to see him, going straight to his 
father's invalid chair. 

He had never seen her so stately, or so beautiful. 
The childish creature, with her soft curls, who had 
sat on the sofa in the firelight at Varling, seemed to 
have vanished utterly. 

She was in grey, pale, pearl grey, with a long train. 
There was a dash of deep, poppy-red somewhere about 
her, which seemed to make her glow and sparkle 
like the deep heart of a rose. 

She wore just a faint smile as she saluted her host, 
thanked him for his inquiries after her health, and 
assured him that she was better. 

“You find me a sad cripple," he said, with a sigh, 

‘ ‘ unable even to rise and greet my Queen of Beauty, 
but a sight of you is better than any amount of doc- 
tor's stuff ; I may recover, now that you have deigned 
to visit me.” 


372 


THE IDES OF MARCH 

“You retain all your power of pretty speaking/' 
she answered, with a somewhat grave smile ; and 
then she turned slowly, and as it seemed haughtily, 
to Evelyn, and gave him her hand. 

“ It is good of you to come," he faltered, terribly 
disconcerted by this change, “good of you to have 
compassion on us in our loneliness." 

“ Lady Caroline likes going out," she answered, 
coldly, as she took the seat he offered ; and both 
accent and manner conveyed to his heavy heart 
the miserable impression that she had not wished to 
come. 

It seemed to strike him suddenly mute. How 
could he make conversation under the circumstances ? 
All his faculties were centred on this terrible, un- 
looked-for turn of affairs. In what a fools Paradise 
had he been living during the last few days ! He had 
imagined that proud Hope Merrion would consent to 
be friends with a man who had as good as told her that 
he declined to associate with such as she. Madness, 
folly, and detestable presumption! He might have 
seen how impossible was such an idea. Could she 
know, or guess at, his long and bitter repentance, or 
have any idea of his remorse ? 

Often, in thought, he had imagined himself pleading 
to her, and had fancied her angry, indignant, as 
when she said she hated him, or kind and yielding as 
he had thought her at Varling. Never once had he 
forecast this civil calm which seemed to Weigh him 
down; to “front unuttered words, and say them 
nay ; " to leave him helpless and hopeless, without 
pardon and without excuse. 

He recovered himself in a minute or two, enough 
to obey Lady Caroline's smiling invitation, and go 
and seat himself beside her. 

“You see, I have some of your violets," she said ; 
“ our cottage is fragrant with them.” 

He said, vaguely, that he was glad ; but failed to 
find any more original reply. It was as if his heart 
must burst at the gulf which had suddenly opened 


THE IDES OF MARCH. 


373 

between himself and Hope. The announcement of 
dinner at the moment was a sort of relief. It gave 
him something definite to do in the way of wheeling 
his father's chair down the corridor into the dining- 
room. 

Mr. Westmorland was a charming host; never 
seen, in fact, quite to perfection but when he was 
entertaining in his own house. He seemed exactly 
to match its heavy, massive antiquity; to be a fit lord 
of docile, perfectly-trained, noiseless servants. Lady 
Carblirie was profoundly impressed by the whole 
mise-en-scene — the haunch and the game, all reared 
and killed on the estate; the rare old wine, laid 
down by ancestral Westmorlands in those very cel- 
lars ; the great deer-hounds basking on the hearth ; 
the aristocratic father and his handsome son. She 
could not help fancying that Hope was impressed too : 
and began to wonder whether, after all, little Ad- 
eline would have much of her aunt’s instruction. 

Mr, Westmorland really enjoyed his visitors, as 
Evelyn had been sure he would, when they were 
there. He was animated and interesting — a different 
creature from the peevish, venomous old man who 
was Evelyn’s daily companion. 

The Major was always conspicuously silent in his 
father’s presence. It was as though the sparkling 
current of small talk froze his own tongue. Lady 
Caroline, however, saved him the trouble of speaking 
much ; she was a chatter-box, and liked nothing bet- 
ter than a good audience. She rattled away merrily 
at his side, while he strove desperately to give atten- 
tion enough to her to enable him to say yes and no 
at the right time, while all the while his face, turned 
towards his left, was longing ever to turn to his right, 
where Hope sat. He felt, rather than saw, that she 
never looked his way unless pointedly appealed to by 
Lady Caroline. She was giving all her attention to 
his father. 

His sufferings grew and grew as the dinner pro- 
gressed. How had he looked forward to this evening 


374 


THE IDES OF MAkCH. 


— counted the minutes during the days that preceded 
it, wearied through the night-watches — thinking how 
cruel was the time that kept him from her. Compared 
with his present blank misery, those waiting days had 
been a miracle of happiness. He began to feel a 
kind of indignation against her. She had no right to 
mock him, to deceive him, as she had done on Mon- 
day, by a hollow show of friendly greeting. Was she 
afraid he thought that all was right between them— - 
that he meant to offer no apology ? He determined, 
with all the force of his will, that he would that very 
night end this horrible suspense, compel her to listen 
to him whilst he humbled himself before her. 

After making that resolution, he grew stronger. 
He felt that he was a man, and that no noble-minded 
woman would turn away from a sincere penitent. 

At least she should not misjudge him : she should 
know now what full justice he did her in his thoughts ; 
he owned it to himself to let her hear that. Mean- 
while, he would bide his time. She was intending 
him to see that she thought he had no right to speak 
to her : he allowed the justice of the sentence, for the 
present. 

Mr. Westmorland talked of the Women's Sanitary 
League and of Tom Saxon, and Hope told how he 
had faithfully and continually written to her all 
through her illness, but she was afraid she was now 
being gradually supplanted by the beautiful young 
daughter of a Scotch earl near whom they were stay- 
ing in the Highlands. They talked, too, of the bril- 
liant offer made to Richard Forde by Dr. Compton, of 
coming to London to be associated with himself, with 
a prospect of many glories in the future ; and how 
the good folk of Norchester were so indignant at his 
loss that they had presented him with a magnificent 
testimonial, bitterly as, a year ago, they had resented 
his “new-fangled innovations. ” But now the ancient 
borough was become scientific : and the streets were 
to be lighted by electricity. 

Snatches of the talk he caught, while Lady Caro- 


THE IDES OF MATCH 


375 


line, to whom Norchester gossip was uninteresting, 
prattled of other things ; and it seemed as though 
the dinner were over before it had well begun, and 
they were repairing to the drawing-room again. 

When coffee had been served, Mr. Westmorland 
begged Lady Caroline to play to him, and she gladly 
consented. Evelyn followed her down the long 
room, opened the grand piano and lit the candles. 

For a few minutes he remained standing beside 
her, forming his resolve as he listened to the gush of 
stormy music which her hands evoked from the 
keys. 

His eyes were full upon Hope, as she sat in the 
lamplight ; and it was as if her cold, unbending 
aspect, and her remote queenliness, sent a new 
strange, throbbing life through him. He was de- 
termined to make her hear him ; and, leaving the 
piano, he walked straight up to her. 

It seemed as though the simple act discomposed 
her : she shrank a little back, holding her head 
higher, looking as though she would say, 

“ What can you want with me? ” 

“Will you come and see the dogs ? ” he asked, in 
a voice meant to reach his father’s ear; and he added 
lower, “I must speak to you, alone.” 

She looked at him, or rather past him, coldly. 

“ I do not understand you,” she said. 

“All I ask is to be allowed to explain. You will 
not give me an opportunity. I must make one.” 

He paused. “God only knows what will become 
of me if you oblige me to part from you, unfor- 
given.” 

She rose slowly, and said, 

“I will go with you ; ” but the quiet, unemotional, 
polite bearing seemed to argue no prospect of his 
being met half-way in his delicate task. 

They went out of the room together, not unmarked 
by Lady Caroline, who continued to play softly. 

The hall was mostly in fire-light, only one lamp 
was lit, near the hearth. 


THE IDES OF MARCH. 


376 

The warm radiance of the glowing logs shone far 
out upon the dark floor, where most of the dogs, 
being excluded from the drawing-room, had betaken 
themselves to sleep. 

Evelyn walked towards the fire, and moved for- 
ward a low chair. 

“Sit down, please; you are not strong yet,” he 
pleaded. 

“I will stand, thank you ; what you have to say 
cannot take long, and we shall be missed from the 
drawing-room. I am quite strong.” 

Strong ! Yes, indeed. Cruelly strong he felt her 
to be. She stood up, in her maiden pride, so calm, 
so unmoved, so sure of herself, that the sight of her 
well-nigh maddened him. Now — now he must 
speak ; he had made this occasion for which he so 
longed, and come what might he would use it. Had 
he any right to expect a more encouraging reception ? 

Across the dark iron bar of silence which divided 
them, he spoke. 

“ I want to tell you ... to say . . . you must 
know what I want to say. The words have burned 
in me ever since I knew — since I found out . . . since 
I saw Disney.” His chest heaved. “ If you knew,” 
he said, with breathless haste, lest his voice should 
fail him before the end, “how I have suffered . . . 
hated myself . . . repented ! How the longing to 
tell you has shaken me till sometimes it seemed 
too much to bear . . . and then they said you were 
dying ! . . . If I could make you understand what it 
was to see your face again — to feel there was a chance 
of telling you what I felt. You think I should not 
dare to hope you could forgive? Perhaps not . . . 
I am at your mercy. If you have no forgiveness for 
me, you will at least know how I have repented.” 

He covered his face with his hands. 

She did not stir : after a pause he looked down upon 
her drooped lids. She had joined her hands tightly 
together, otherwise there was no sign of feeling about 
her, 


THE IDES OF MARCH 377 

“You taught me a lesson, which I needed/' she 
gravely said at last, still with her eyes down. “No- 
body, till I met you, had ever openly disapproved 
of me ; at least, not to the extent of declining my 
acquaintance. I suppose I ought to consider you 
a useful factor in my education. ” 

“Your bitterness is quite pardonable. I will bear 
all your sneers/’ he said, in tones of such pain as 
smote the girl’s tender heart. 

In an impulse of generosity she held out her hand. 

“Please don’t think of it again,” she said. “I for- 
gave you the day you were so kind to me on Lim- 
merdale. I am sorry you should have had this 
suffering to bear, in- — in addition to your — your other 
trouble.” 

“ My other trouble ! ” he repeated, blankly. “Oh, 
my father’s illness ! ” 

She silently withdrew her hand. 

“You really forgive me?” he said, as though the 
fact scarcely brought him that extreme beatification 
he had expected. “Me, who, -without knowing a 
single fact of the case, insolently set up myself in 
judgment against you! And who insulted you so 
brutally when you were willing to be friends. You 
forgive too easily.” 

“Oh, you make too much of it, ” she said with an 
air of wishing to have done with these self-accusing 
reminiscences. “Your motive, at least, was good, 
you know : you could not pretend to be civil to a 
person you so reprobated. Now — I have given you 
plenary absolution. Shall we go back to the draw- 
ing-room ? ” 

Was it over ? Apparently. 

She had determined to cut him short : had even re- 
fused to sit down : had, in fact, behaved as though he 
and his shortcomings were matters of so little impor- 
tance to her that it was hardly worth while to trouble 
her with them. 

What more had he expected ? He could not say : 
he only knew that his present agony seemed greater 


THE IDES OF MARCH. 


378 

than he could bear. He moved before her, as she 
turned to go. 

“ I have yet to ask your forgiveness/' he said 
harshly, ‘ ■ for troubling you concerning such a trivial 
matter as myself. I am too despicable, I see, for you 
even to consider seriously. I am the wretched man 
who engaged himself to a woman he did not love, 
and yet presumed to criticise you for dismissing — oh, 
forgive me! I hardly know what I say. You are 
kinder to me than I deserve. Good-bye. I will not 
intrude my feelings upon you again. Good-bye ! " 

She paused, and listened, petrified, to this outburst. 
There was such a fierce undercurrent of wild passion 
in his voice, the accents seemed to shake her like a 
strong wind. 

“I am sorry to have seemed discourteous," she 
said, a little tremulously. 

“I think I am mad," he said; “but God knows 
what it is to live alone, as I do, with every feeling 
stifled close, without sympathy, without companion- 
ship, without an aim in life to keep me from stagna- 
tion ! I feel as if — as if ” his voice died away. 

It seemed as if something he would have said was 
violently repressed. “ It is not for me to trouble you 
with this," he said at last, in his old patient voice, 
somewhat sadder than usual. “ If I feel your pre- 
sence on my hearth so strongly that I forget myself, 
you must forgive that too. God bless you ... Are 
you not going, now ? " 

She wavered. A sudden light of womanly sym- 
pathy glowed in her face. She looked up at him. 

“Major Westmorland . . . if you want sym- 
pathy ... if you think I could help you ... I 
should like to. You mistake a little — I am far from 
despising you. I will listen " 

“No," he murmured. “I dare not! We mean 
such different things, you and I. You would give 
me your sweet pity as you would give it to any un- 
fortunate thing you happened to meet : and I should 
— fling it in your face ! ” 


THE IDES OF MATCH. 


379 


She started back from him. 

“ Do you think I will be pitied by you?” he said, 
with rising passion. “ I, who have loved you almost 
from the moment I first saw you — who tried to hate 
you because I loved you so wildly — who dared not 
take your little hand in mine lest that should prove 
too much for my self-control — who think of you all 
day and night, whose whole soul is so full of you 
that nothing else in the world seems definitely real — 
do you think I will take your pity ? ” 

She stood astounded, her wide gaze fixed upon his 
agitated face as if with a fascination too strong for 
resistance. Her silence was the spur that urged him 
on. 

“I never loved before,” he continued, with most 
unusual rapidity of utterance, “I did not know the 
force of it when I asked that poor child to marry me 
— I thought that I could kill it . . . could kill my 
love for you J You see how successful I have been 
— how I have gained the mastery over it ! Hope ! ” 
suddenly he gasped, “what is it? You are ill — it is 
my fault ! My intolerable selfishness ! I forgot how 
weak she is ! ” 

She had saved herself from falling, by dropping 
into the chair she had declined to use. 

He sprang to a table near, seized his father’s vinai- 
grette, and held it to her. She seemed not to notice 
it, nor him. Her hands covered her face. 

He dropped to his knees beside her ; the mingled 
force of love and regret moved him as he had never 
been moved before. 

“What have I done?” he pleaded, in a voice so 
tender, so rich and full in utterance, that it might not 
have been his own. “ Hope, my queen, my first 
and last love, speak to me ! I will be good ! I will 
not disturb, nor distress you again ! I am so sorry, 
so ashamed of my own want of self-restraint. I cried 
out to you like a drowning wretch ; I will be silent 
now. ” 

She did not move ; at last he lost patience, and 
drew her hands away gently from her face, 


THE IDES OF MARCH. 


380 

It was a different countenance from the set and 
haughty one which had fronted him during ' it, fore- 
going interview. Alive with emotion, scarl . ., quiver- 
ing with feeling, drooping under his gaze, 

“Oh, let me go ! ” she gasped at last 

“I am not holding you,” he replied, unsteadily. 
“ Go, if you will.” 

And then at last the great swelling wave of feeling 
broke at her feet ; he forgot all circumstances, all his 
own deficiencies, all but the one mighty desire of his 
lonely heart, and, simply because he could not help 
it, he cried out to her : 

“Will you leave me here alone — without you, 
Hope, my Hope ? Oh, Hope, stay with me ! Come 
to me ! jBe my own ! I love— I love you so ! ” 

His arm was on the arm of her chair, and he 
dropped his head upon it : his great shoulders shook 
with one deep sob. 

At last her low voice roused him. 

“You loved me — that night — in the garden ? ” 

“With all my soul, though then I hardly under- 
stood.” 

“Why did you engage yourself to Leo ? ” 

“ Partly to protect myself against your power over 
me ; partly to please my father ; it was a grossly 
wrong action, yet at the time my only desire was to 
do right. What must have been your opinion of me ? 
Oh, God, ” he passionately cried, ‘ ‘ that you and I 
were back, in the darkness and rain, together on the 
lonely moor ! Nobody to come between us then ! 
For that one day of my life I lived indeed ! ” 

He raised his face, with tear-brimmed eyes, to hers ; 
and what he saw there sent the blood to his heart 
with so sudden a rush that his senses reeled. For 
one long, glorious instant his eyes seemed burning 
into hers, the next she was in his arms. 

He drew her, strongly, yet with infinite tenderness, 
into his embrace ; he laid his brown cheek against 
her damask one ; at last his lips trembled upon hers, 
and then the world faded out of sight for a time. 


THE IDES OF MARCH. 


38 1 


CHAPTER XIII. 

THE CURSE FAILS. 

For love’s own voice has owned her love is mine ; 

And love’s own palm has pressed my palm to hers ; 

Love’s own deep eyes have looked the love she spoke, 

And love’s young heart to mine was fondly beating, 

As from her lips I sucked the sweet of lifl. 

Thomas Woolner. 

“ You know, ” he said at last. ‘ ‘ I cannot let you go. ” 

“ Oh 1 ” she cried, her sweet face hidden against his 
neck, “ what have you done? You have taken me 
unawares ! You took advantage of my weakness ! ” 

“Yes,” he said, defiantly, yet in a voice half 
strangled with an emotion too mighty for restraint, 
“I have ! It was my only chance. . . . You have 
been so terribly strong — too strong for me. Now is 
my hour. Thank God I have taken it. You are 
mine, whether you own it or not. None shall take 
you away from me.” 

“You do not know — I have not said I love you,” 
she cried, rebelling fruitlessly against this newly-man- 
ifested strength and mastery. 

He held her away from him, and looked at her, 
his eyes kindled, his breath quick, his whole air that 
of one who has fought against terrible odds, and at 
the end, to his unspeakable surprise and joy, finds 
himself conqueror. 

“ I saw your eyes,” he said. “ They told me. It 
was not pity merely, nor womanly sympathy : it was 
love ; and you are mine. Thank God.” 

He bent his head reverently ; she clasped her small 
hands over his : he could feel their trembling. 

“ Have you loved me so long ? ” she asked. 

“ All my life, it seems.” 


THE IDES OF MATCH. 


382 

“You are honest and good,” she said, impetuously, 
nestling to his side, half-shy, half-trustful. “You 
never did a mean thing, nor thought a mean thought. 

I trust you so.” 

“Oh, my beloved ! ” 

Later on, when they were calmer, she said, 

“You were right to think I had done wrong. It 
was true — I think I did treat Edgar badly. If I really 
had loved him, I suppose I should have forgiven him. 
And yet — I cannot fancy myself capable of loving a 
man who could do such a thing.” 

“Yet you c^i love a man who engaged himself to 
a girl for whom he cared nothing ? ” 

She looked at him gravely. 

“You never deceived her. You never pretended 
to care for her. She says so herself. ” 

“ I meant to do my duty to her,” he said “ arrogant 
fool that I was. I am so thankful she took her hap- 
piness into her own hands. Disney is a good fellow 
at the bottom ; he will settle down and make her 
very happy.” 

“ I think so too,” said Hope, softly. 

“If you could know,” he confessed, presently, 

“ from what a state of despondency — almost despair 
— you aroused me the other day, when I overtook 
you in the lane ; you did not know you were so near 
me when you came to this part of the country ? ” 

“No, indeed. I had no clear idea of the where- 
abouts of Feverell.” 

“ I was utterly wretched that day,” he said. “My 
father had almost impressed me with his own super- 
stition. I am the worst fellow in the world to live 
with a hypochondriac — my spirits are nothigh enough. 
You know my father believes that our race is to be- 
come extinct next year ? ” 

She had heard no more of it than what Gilbert Gre- 
ville had told her. Evelyn explained to her the curi- 
ous origin of his father s monomania. 

“I really do think it very strange,” she said, “I 


THE IDES OF MARCH. 


383 

mean, it is a curious coincidence that you should be 
the only son of a younger son, just when the moon is 
on Sunday, the first of March/’ 

The sound of the brougham wheels on the gravel 
first brought back their minds to every-day life. 
Evelyn started. 

“It cannot be time for you to go,” he cried. “ Ah ! 
but now it is different. When I said farewell to you 
in the charcoal-burner’s hut, I intended never to see 
you again as long as I lived. But now ! Oh, my 
sweet, my own love, soon we shall not have to say 
good-bye any more.” 

She rose from the chair, and stood up stately in the 
firelight, which flung rosy lights over her soft, sweep- 
ing draperies. He felt as if the strength of his over- 
whelming happiness must kill him as he devoured 
her with his eyes. 

“It is you — really you,” he said. “You stand 
here, in my house, as I have so often, so often fancied 
you. Is it true ? Hope, do you not repent ? Do you 
hold to your word? Ah! You have given me no 
promise yet ! ” 

He approached, and drew her into his proud arms. 

“ Will you be my — wife ? My wife,” he repeated, 
as if he could not often enough taste the sweetness of 
the dear words ; and in her captors strong hold, and 
with his eyes compelling her, no other course seemed 
open to the victim than to say, 

“ I will.” 

‘ ‘ May I tell him — my father — to-night ? ” he pleaded. 

She turned her small face up to his, and a little 
smile dawned on the tempting mouth. 

“Ah! You are marrying in obedience to his 
wishes,” she said, softly, “ and engaging yourself as 
a matter of duty. Evelyn ! Dear love ! ” in sudden 
consternation, as a look of intense pain passed over 
his face. “ Forgive me ! My attempt at a joke was 
in extremely bad taste ! ” 

4 4 It is only that I hate to be reminded of it,” he 


THE IDES OF MATCH. 


384 

faltered, shamefacedly. “ Don’t say that I never did 
anything mean ! ” 

“ It was not mean ; you mistook your own feelings, 
that was all. " 

‘ * Yes, I had not proved love. I did not know what 
this was then,” and he drew her closer to his side. 

They entered the drawing-room together. 

Lady Caroline, though sedulously entertained by 
her host, was beginning to desire the reappearance 
of her charge ; for the theme that he had chosen to 
discourse upon was the ruling passion of his mind— 
the approaching Doom of the Westmorlands. The 
old missal, in which the prophecy had originally been 
found, was always close at his elbow, and he showed 
it to her. 

Taken in conjunction with the feudal aspect of all 
around her, and the intense conviction of the old 
man himself, the weird legend somewhat impressed 
the imaginative mind of the lady, and she was feeling 
decidedly uncomfortable when the door opened, and 
the missing pair walked in. 

One glance at their faces told their tale to her, at 
least ; and it was more or less a shock. 

We who read, knowing as Jane Austen remarks, 
by the few pages which remain, that the climax must 
be reached, are able to take it more quietly. Lady 
Caroline, assisted by no such token, thought that it 
was quick work ; but then she had not heard the 
preceding volumes of the romance. Evelyn’s voice 
had the ring of his completed manhood in it, as he 
said, 

“ Father, Hope has promised to be my wife ; ” and 
the girl, slipping to her knees on the rug beside him, 
put her arms about the old man’s neck, and, breaking 
into tears, faltered out, 

“ I am not good enough for him ! I have been sel- 
fish and frivolous, while he — you know what he is— 
you know ! . . . But I love him so ! ” 

No fit nor paralytic seizure followed this second 
announcement. The old man sat dazed for a moment, 


THE IDES OF MARCH. 385 

and then stretched out tremulous hands to the Major. 

“ My son ! My son ! ” 

Evelyn gave his hand in a silence too full for words. 

. . . * ‘ So it was this — always this? Eh, my boy?' 
cried the father tremulously. 

“Always this, father. . . but I scarcely dared to 
hope. ” 

“My daughter,” tenderly resumed the invalid, 
caressing the girl's head, hidden in his shoulder. 

‘ ‘ I will be your daughter — 1 will try to be worthy 
of him : to be always with him ought to make me 
good 1 ” 

The paternal love, which had seemed non-existent 
in Clifford Westmorland's heart, gushed out at length, 
as if stimulated by those sweet words. 

“ If he is as good a husband to you as he has been 
a good son to me, my dear, you will be a happy 
woman . . . and I expect you will — perhaps — not 
make his duty so hard as I have done.” 

It seemed to Evelyn as if his great simple heart must 
burst, for joy of those words. 

Lady Caroline, with wet eyes, came forward to 
offer her congratulations. 

“Is the Curse averted?” she asked, with tender 
playfulness. 

“It only says ‘Withouten Hope,"’ said Evelyn, 
triumphantly : “and Hope is mine now.” 

‘ ‘ Evelyn — that is brilliant of you ! It never occurred 
to me ! ” cried his father, admiringly. 

It occured to me very shortly after I met her,” 
replied his son. 

“Well ! Then the Sunday Moon is powerless now,” 
said Lady Caroline. “ Let me see — what day does it 
fall upon, according to the modern calendar ? ” 

Evelyn looked puzzled, and said, 

‘ 4 The first of March. ” 

“Ah ! but not our first of March, surely. This 
prophecy is fourteenth century, I think you say ? ” 

“Undoubtedly. ” 

“Well — then their March began somewhere about 

25 


THE IDES OF MARCH. 


386 

the middle of ours, did it not ? Somewhere about the 
Ides of our present March ? Old May Day was our 
fifteenth of May, you know/’ 

‘ ‘ Father, ” said Evelyn, after a long pause, * ‘ did you 
take into consideration the difference in the almanac ? " 

“No, Evelyn/' hesitatingly replied the old man, 
who had flushed crimson, I cannot say that I did. I 
certainly never thought of it. Perhaps I should have 
showed the document more publicly ; someone should 
have discovered so glaring an error. I cannot think 
how I came to " 

“Then, after all, the prophecy does not apply this 
year," cried Evelyn. “If there’s a new moon on the 
first, there manifestly can't be another for four weeks, 
without a convulsion of nature.” 

“Manifestly. " 

“Lady Caroline, fair soothsayer, you have broken 
the spell ! ” cried the Major, as his rare, deep laugh 
rang out from his great sound lungs. “We must wait 
until the new moon makes her appearance on the Ides 
of Mareh before we expect our doom. Father, father, 
genuine though it be, your curse has failed ignomin- 
iously, just as there was always a cheat in the oracles 
of old. " 

“The Curse spoke truly," maintained the old man, 
obstinately. “ The technical differences in dates are 
what it would not concern itself about. It is you 
who have successfully evaded it. ‘ Withouten Hope,' 
it marvellously said ; and Hope is yours now 1 " 


THE END. 


Lb D 25 












